


Cough Syrup (Discontinued)

by Chelseee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Lucius Malfoy, Angst, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Bullying, Depression, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-War, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:07:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 30,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23053708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chelseee/pseuds/Chelseee
Summary: 8th year, a second chance to close an old story.Harry's sick of being the hero.Draco's sick of being the villain.Now, they are forced play their parts yet again, but this time it's different. It's on their terms.------Draco turns to set his eyes on the line where the sea meets the sky, afraid of falling into the hypnosis he always seems to succumb to when looking at Potter for too long.The hues of the sky reflect onto the still water, mirroring the beauty held there. Draco likes the water ; it's true, unchanging, calm. The mirrored image trapped within it a faithful representation of the subject in question.Draco's face appears clear in the lake, lines of stress and exhaustion cutting into his sickly looking face.He averts his eyes. Sometimes, he doesn't like the water.But seeking the truth is often better than believing a lie.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 200
Kudos: 330





	1. Restore life the way it should be

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first ever story on here, so it would be lovely if you could comment and leave kudos💜 It would boost my confidence greatly

Draco has always been ghost-like ; in a way. Be it the shockingly white hair, stoney eyes, or perpetually sneering expression, something about him seemed supernatually charged.

But now, he's even more so, floating rather than walking through the halls he once strode down confidently. He looks so similar to a dead man, that he'd put the castle ghosts to shame.

Perhaps he is a dead man. Life isn't just the simple fact of being alive - it's more than that. Much more. Draco's never lived for the more.

A hushed voice in passing firmly grabs Draco and drags him out of his own thoughts.

"Deatheater."

It's a whispered fact, spoken like an insult. 

The fifth year calling Draco that is akin to Draco barking a "Ravenclaw" back at him. They're both descriptions, just descriptions. 

Words don't have weight behind them. 

Words don't have weight behind them.

Draco knows all too well how much the truth can hurt, so he'll keep fuelling his forged fantasy- he'd rather loose touch with veracity than confront his demons. 

_Words don't have weight behind them._

The quite literal dark tunnel he'd started to tire from walking down opens up to a burst of light at the end, making for a disgustingly fitting metaphor

If Draco truly was a ghost, stepping out into the warm sunshine would prove much more difficult. 

If he had to guess, he'd say being in the sun, feeling it's warmth reach right through his bones, touching his soul and igniting a fire within his very core, would be the closest thing to living for _more_ he can imagine.

It's strange in a way; Draco was raised with having the best of the best, expensive, luxurious spreads of toys and entertainment, and yet, nothing can compare with the joy he feels, just sitting by the lake, staring at the glistening water stare back up at him.

But this time, when he sits to enjoy the small pleasure, two people stare back at him.

"Malfoy?" 

"Potter?"


	2. Splash of the sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second Chapter, here we go!

The boy who lived is SUCH a ridiculous name. Draco can't understand why people say it with such reverence. It sounds utterly idiotic. He wouldn't be caught dead referring to Harry Potter as such.

Yet, for the first time, the name seems fitting.

The way he stands in front of him, emerald eyes shimmering like the water under the sun's light, makes Draco believe Harry's got the whole 'more than just being alive' thing down pat. 

He looks happier , healthier. Like the break after the war was good for him. His eyes don't look as tired, skin not so pale, lips not so worried down by constant biting.

Draco realises half way through that all those things could very well be affirmed for himself.

"What- why are you here?" Potter asks, still managing to retain some of that Griffindor confidence despite his confusion.

"I didn't realise I needed a reason." Draco says, but the words hold little of the malice they would have in the past. He's too tired, what the point? What can it achieve?

Potter, with his ever empathetic nature, picks up on the lack of spite from the usually very spiteful blonde.

"You don't have to tell me." He turns his face away from Draco, to glance over the lake. 

The sun catches his face, illuminating his skin, turning it a dewy, warm tone, and the wind ripping through the trees tossle his hair into more of a mess than it already was. "But no one comes here, so far out of the way, for no reason." 

"Why are you here then?" Draco chirps, drawing his eyes away from the mesmerising boy and joining his gaze into the horizon.

"I asked first." 

This feels strange to Draco- he's sure it feels strange to Potter too. They've never talked aside from to hurl insults at each other, but now, here, they're having a conversation that feels much like an exchange between - dare he say it, _friends_. 

No, Potter's leniency can't possibly extend to Draco. He should despise him, even more than he already does. 

He doesn't sound like he despises him.

"We're not children, Potter." 

He actually laughs at this, an odd, hearty sound, reaching Draco's ears and winding through his body, sending shivers down his spine and a fluffy feeling in his stomach. He likes hearing people laugh. It creates the illusion that he's laughing with them. That he's feeling the happiness they are.

"No. We're not." 

Draco looks back to him at this, frowning. His eyes are closed, head tilted upwards to try and catch the last of the sun's rays before it dips behind the horizon, and the moon takes it's place. 

Another simple pleasure - that's why Potter, and Draco, are here. A childish joy for young adults who've had to grow up too quickly. 

"I've got to get going." Potter says, snapping out of the trance he'd been in, consequently snapping Draco out of his.

"I'll see you around, Draco?" He says it like a question, even though it's a non contestable fact. There's not a lot of 8th years returning, they're bound to have classes together, starting tomorrow.

But this is Potter's way of extending an olive branch. Why, is still up for debate, but who is Draco to refuse his offer?

"I'll... see you, Potter." 

The brunette smiles, making his way back towards the castle.

Draco looks up when the orange light is replaced with a white one. 

The moonlight is sparse, but it's peaceful. 

But Draco shouldn't return to this place, regardless of how peaceful it may be. If Harry's been here once, he'll come back. 

He should stay away, shouldn't let himself get close to the boy, just because he's shown him an ounce of kindness.

Draco turns back towards the castle with a sigh of defeat, as his heart once again overrules his more sensible conciousness, already mapping out a time for his next visit.


	3. Restore me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pleasepleaseplease don't be afraid to leave a comment, criticism or compliments! I love all of them! Thank you to everyone who read this so far, and got me to over 300 hits in 2 days!! (Wow!!) And everyone who left kudos! And a special thank you to the commenters! I will endeavour to reply to all comments in the future!

Once upon a time, Draco had wanted to be a healer, before his father had stepped in, demanding a less 'cowardly' and 'common' career path. Because being a Deatheater was _much_ greater a show of bravery. 

But now that Lucius is safely tucked away in one of Azkaban's hellish cells, Draco is free to choose whatever career pleases him. 

Healing pleases him. No one would guess so ; the irony of an ex Deatheater for a healer seems too much for most people to look past. He can't fault them - It's strange to him too. 

He can only venture a guess that the draw to the healing arts stems from both his love of potions and a strong desire to attone for the countless sins he's commited in his short life. 

The former reason is why he finds himself in old Slughorn's potion class first thing in the morning. If it were any other lesson, Draco would have moaned and groaned on to no end about how no class has any business being so early, but the potions class, despite the very tangible lack of a certain Slytherin professor, never fails to bring comfort to the youngest Malfoy. 

Everybody's got thier one, definite skill. The one thing that they can just feel _right_ doing. Potions is that skill for Draco.

Draco's one of the first to enter, a wide smile stretching across Slughorn's face when he greets him.

Draco knows better than to trust that smile - his eyes tell him a different story. 

"Draco! Ah- you're early. Have a seat." 

Potions is easier with a partner, but Draco doesn't think that's going to be a possibility, so he moves silently to the back of the class. 

He can work alone, it's not the end of the world. He's already lived through that, and it did not feel so trivial, of that he's sure.

He's doing quite an outstanding job of repressing the isolation issues building up within him, when _he_ walks in.

And in a moment, it's all shattered. 

Potter is laughing with his friends - It sounds different to Draco, somehow. He much prefers it when he's the one to make Potter laugh. 

But that's not what strikes Draco straight through the chest, gripping and twisting at his heart and leaving him feeling emptier than he thought possible.

It's when Potter turns, just a fraction of an inch, to smile and nod at Draco. 

The interaction lasts but a moment , but there's a whole anthology of emotion written in Draco's mind by the time it's over. 

When he sits, right in the front, next to Granger and Weasley and far from Draco, the ink is finally spilled, drawing the story of Draco's internal turmoil to an abrupt close. 

He didn't know what he was expecting - for Potter to drop everything, and run to his side? 

_Grow up, Malfoy._

An infatuation. That's what this has become. A festering infatuation.

But not for Harry -no, for his words, his guestures. For the kindness he surrenders so willingly, even when it is undeserved.

But kindness does not mean Harry's just as infatuated with Draco. That would be pathetic. 

Almost as pathetic as Draco is - so hungry for even a small show of mercy and benignity that he becomes possessive over Harry's very much non specific altruism.

The class starts to fill up, and Harry's voice becomes more muffled by the chatter surrounding him. 

_Look away, you should look away._

Draco can't, he's fixated on him. The way he smiles easily at the people who greet him happily, like being loved is second nature to him. Well, it is, isn't it?

Harry Potter is virtually impossible to hate.

Yet somehow Draco had managed to for a good amount of time. Another reason Harry has no business befriending the blonde. 

Green eyes meet grey a second later, and it startles Draco into looking away, down at his book to at least try to pretend he's focused on the work, or what Slughorn's rambling on about, or anything other than what he truly was focused on.

Abashed, Draco doesn't look up from the table in front of him for the rest of the hour. 

Potter's there at the lake again when Draco finally arrives. He can't seem to decide whether this excites or disappoints him. 

He decides he better wait for Harry to open his mouth before he makes a concrete decision.

"You're back." He smiles at him, this time close to the water, a smooth stone in hand, ready to be thrown. 

"So are you." 

Harry releases the stone , and it skips over the blue expanse of the lake elegantly, dipping below the surface when it stops. 

Draco's eyes follow the movement intently. Because of _course_ he'd even be good at skipping stones too. 

"Do you want to try? It's easy, really." 

Draco almost chokes on his own breath. Very elegant. 

"N-o, thank you." While Potter can waltz around doing just about anything perfectly, Draco's perfection comes from a very carefully selected set of talents he chooses to reveal to the world. _Skipping stones_ just happens to be somewhat of a weakness, as it were.

"Come on, Malfoy. Don't be such a prude. Just try it. Unless, of course, you're scared." And the little bastard has the nerve to quirk an eyebrow, as though he's one upped Draco. 

The latter rolls his eyes irritably. "Give me the blasted rock." He snaps, marching forward to the edge of the river bank, hand outstretched.

The stone Harry selects is heavy in his palm, but it's soft, no jagged edges. Draco realises, after a second of running his thumb over the top to feel the smoothness, he has no idea how to skip a stone.

"How do you..."

And Harry laughs, again, and Draco's breath catches. There it is, that sound. He doesn't even mind that he's making fun of him. 

Okay, maybe he minds a little. 

"Potter! You wanted me to do this, the very least you could do is show me how." 

"Okay, okay. Relax, Malfoy. Here, let me help."

Draco's still buzzing from the irritation, but when he feels Harry's hand on his arm, pulling it back and into place, large palms wrapping around his own slender fingers, all he can think about is the sound of his own heartbeat, thumping like crazy in his throat, in his chest, in his head. 

Nobody's been this close to him in a long time. Nobody.

"Alright. Now flick your wrist forward, like this." Harry moves his hand slowly with Draco's demonstrating the action. "It's like casting a spell." 

It is nothing like casting a spell, Draco soon discovers, because his rock hits the water immediately with a large splash and a strong feeling of shame creeping into his cheeks.

Harry laughs again, and he's so close to Draco, he can just about see the brightness in his eyes.

"Stop laughing at me!" Draco says, sounding every bit the petulant child he was not so long ago.

"I'm sorry- " Harry says, sounding not at all sorry. "It's just- the great Slytherin prince, unable to skip a stone." 

Draco glares, eyes narrow , but for once not cold. He'd never admit to it, but it is funny, in a way. 

"It's not my fault I was too busy to concern myself with such trivial tasks-" 

"I'm sorry I said anything!" Harry interjects, remnants of his laughter still evident on his face.

Draco turns to set his eyes on the line where the sea meets the sky, afraid of falling into the hypnosis he always seems to succumb to when looking at Potter for too long. 

The hues of the sky reflect onto the still water, mirroring the beauty held there. Draco likes the water ; it's true, unchanging, calm. The mirrored image trapped within it a faithful representation of the subject in question. 

Draco's face appears clear in the lake, lines of stress and exhaustion cutting into his sickly looking face. 

He averts his eyes. Sometimes, he doesn't like the water. 

But seeking the truth is often better than believing a lie.

"Why are you here?" He asks, quietly.

"We've been through this, haven't we?"

"No, I mean ... why are you here, talking to me?"

Harry's silent for a long time after that, and Draco's too scared to try and gauge his thought process by glancing at his face.

"I don't know, Draco. If you want me to be honest, I don't. I know what you did, what you've done," Draco cringes at the memory, "But I - no one deserves to be abandoned. No one can't be saved." 

It seems, to Draco at least, Harry knows exactly why he's here. To fulfill whatever saviour complex he's developed, through the medium of Draco.

Draco should be offended, he should walk off, and never come back. Should stop talking to Harry all together. No friendship should be built on a clear power imbalance like the one they have.

But Draco can't find it within his vulnerable self to refuse help from anyone. "Thank you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer : I do NOT support engaging in a relationship with someone purely because you believe they can 'save you' or because you are in a vulnerable place. They maybe be taking advantage of you without either of you realising it. Draco and Harry's relationship in this story is NOT something anyone should aspire to, and it is pure FICTION.


	4. One more spoon of cough syrup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooowee! Another one!! Sorry it's a teensy bit late, I've been struggling to keep to schedules recently

From there on out, Harry's a lot more ... forward towards Draco. A wave here and there across the dining hall, or a chaste tap on the shoulder in greeting. It's small things, undetectable by others, yet it's the highlight of the past three days for Draco. He yearns for the comfort, the stillness he feels when he's with Harry. Because then, even if just for a moment, the whole world, all his problems, they slip away into obscurity.

But no problem can be fixed without another one being created.

Draco had grown to handle the friends, he could cope with Potter being close to people other than him, but just as he was starting to come to terms with the idea, a certain redhead just _had_ to be thrown into the mix.

Ginny Weasley. The only female in the litter of offspring produced by Molly and Arthur Weasley. And, unfortunately, _Harry Potter's girlfriend._

Draco hates her. Well, that's stretching it. He merely _dislikes_ the girl. 

Jealous? He's not jealous. He's _concerned._ Draco, now more than ever, has to look out for himself. Ginny, Ron, the whole family really, despise him with an intensity he can't begin to describe.

What does that mean for Harry and Draco?

But really, he's not jealous. He's not in love with Potter for god's sake. He can have himself a girlfriend, or whatever makes him happy. 

He just wishes he didn't. 

Expecially not when he can see them together, all over each other like filthy dogs in heat. It's disgusting, Draco is disgusted. 

Its worse when he has the misfortune of being placed in thier defence against the dark arts class.

Harry barely acknowledges him - just a small smile after walking in and that's it. He's too wrapped up with talking with her to even care about conversating with Draco. 

It leads Draco to come to the probably very likely conclusion that Harry hasn't explicitly _told_ Ginny, or his friends for that matter, that he's been talking with Draco more and more. 

Draco wishes this revelation wouldn't make him mad - he really does. But something about feeling like the dirty little secret Potter doesn't want to talk about turns his stomach. 

Draco should watch where he's going. A shoulder slams into his, making him snap out of his contemplation and rub at the spot of impact. He can already feel the bruise starting to form.

"Are you trying to start something?" The perpertrator - a younger student, Griffindor quidditch uniform- snaps. 

Draco rolls his eyes almost to the back of his head. It's ridiculous. If anything, he's the one trying to start something. 

He can find no purpose in standing and arguing with the oaf, so he just turns to leave, when he speaks again.

"Coward. Just run away, to daddy like you always did."

Something in Draco physically recoils at that. The idiot has no idea what relationship Draco and his father share- _shared_. He couldn't begin to understand. 

He whurls around, a fire brewing just behind his grey eyes. 

"Yelling at someone in an empty corridor? My my, it's Godric himself in the flesh! True bravery." 

Draco sneers at the younger boy, for a moment reminding himself of someone he's not anymore. Is this what Potter and his friends saw of him? Is this what they perceived him to be?

"Then maybe hexing a deatheater will win me many more bravery points." He says, drawing his wand with a flash movement of his hand, and aiming it at Draco. 

Draco freezes. Slow, he's too slow. Panic starts to set in. This is different from duelling; one is an organised sport, with rules and sanctions and safety measures, the other is a darkened, isolated corridor with a student, judging from the interaction thus far, who has no regard for Draco's safety. 

He's not a complete fool, of course he won't try a cruciatas curse, or the killing curse, but certain hexes can come a close second in terms of pain thresholds.

Draco would know.

"Don't be stupid. Professor McGonagall will have you expelled." 

"She won't know. Who's going to believe you?" 

He has a valid point. Who'd believe Draco Malfoy over anyone?

Draco's torn between cursing himself for walking down such a eerie looking corridor to begin with - It seemed like a shorter route - and resigning himself to his fate. He could reach for his wand, but he'd be too slow, and his wand too weak. 

Draco didn't get off scot-free. One of the terms upon his reentry into Hogwarts was the assigned weaker, duller wand. His one is still at the manor, itching to be used, while he's instead stuck with a barely functional stick.

"This doesn't make you any less cowardly." 

Or any less stupid. Boasting about the deed is bound to bring attention to it - a mightly shame for Draco, but hopefully it reaches McGonagall and it will be worth it to see him expelled.

"I'm not about to take tips on cowardice from a Malfoy." He steadies his wand, his lips move, muttering a spell Draco's never heard before, and three things happen in quick succession. 

One, Draco cries out, clasping his hands over his ears, trying to soothe the pain building there.

Two, another cry, but this time not from Draco, erupts and echoes down the hallway. 

Three, there's hands on his shoulders, and on his chin too, getting him to look up into, of course, Harry's eyes.

Because he really does live up to his title. 

Draco peers around him, to see the Griffindor stumbling down the hallway, clutching his stomach, in clear agony.

Harry's talking, Draco's sure, but he only catches parts of what he's saying. The spell caused an overwhelming ringing in his ears, like someone's inside his head, knocking around a bell.

"Are you alright? Draco, listen, focus. Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?" 

He shakes his head again, as though that would help the headache he's got coming on.

"No, no, I'm fine."

"You're bleeding-" Harry says, frowning. He cups his jaw, twisting his head to either side to inspect his ears. 

Now that Harry mentions it, Draco can feel something wet running down the side of his face - or at least, he would if he wasn't so zoned in on the sensation of Harry's warm fingers pressing gently but firmly into his cheek.

"I'm taking you to get that checked."

"Potter-"

"No, Draco. You could have been seriously hurt." 

He wants to argue, he wants to feel every bit of the rage he felt that got him into this mess to begin with, but he just can't, not when Harry's looking at him like he's the only thing that matters in the world.

Reluctantly, he lets Harry pull him along, and halfway through thier journey, the other shoe drops with a deafening thud.

How the hell did Harry know Draco was there? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny how Draco can forget all his annoyance after one interaction 🙃  
> -  
> I laughed at the pun "Deafening thud" for longer than I'd like to admit  
> -  
> As always, please comment! It encourages me wayyyyy more than kudos or hits, because it's a direct connection to you guys, the readers!! I love hearing your thoughts!!


	5. Loosing my mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!   
> Please keep leaving kudos and comments!

Watching Harry trying to fumble his way around a good excuse as to why Draco's eardrums are perforated is amusing to say the least.

Luckily for all parties involved, Madam Pomfrey has somewhat of a reputation for not asking questions. Like, for one, why is it that Harry Potter out of all people is assisting Draco?

It's a concern Draco may be projecting a little. After all, he's asked himself the same thing on far too many an occasion. Yes, Potter's got a saviour complex. But there are plenty other broken toys out there for him to fix, expecially now. Why Draco?

"Are you alright?" Harry asks after Madam Pomfrey's done bustling around Draco. She'd cleaned off the blood and had given him a bitter tasting drink that dulled the pain significantly, so he didn't complain too much about the flavour.

"I'm fine, like I said before. It barely hurts." He lies fluently, it's like a second language to him.

Phrases like 'Quidditch practice' or 'Duelling' or something of the sort always seems to come naturally out of his mouth when the situation requires it.

But Potter, unlike the rest of them, doesn't seem to believe the lies.

"I wish I had gotten there sooner. To stop him before he drew his wand." 

"Well ... how could you have known. It's lucky you ran into us when you did." 

Draco wouldn't have dreamt of saying something that sounds suspiciously like he needs Potter, but this is a careful situation. He has to know how Harry knew where he was. He can't have just heard them talking ; he appeared far too quick for that. 

"I'm glad I did. But Draco, please, take the well lit corridors from now on." He says, looking Draco in the eyes imploringly. 

The retort Draco had planned out falls dead in his mouth. He can't make fun of Harry for treating him like a child, not when he's looking at him like that. 

"Alright." He says quietly. The shame, which he'd managed to ignore for thus far, starts to inch it's way back into his mind. He escaped Azkaban, but he's doing his time regardless.

Don't travel late at night, don't look at people the wrong way, don't walk down empty corridors. Maybe he can't fault Potter for treating him like a child, or some sort of precious porcelain doll, but he sure as hell can feel like one. 

"I've got to meet Ginny soon ... but let me walk you back to the dorms." He adds on the last bit after a moment's consideration. Draco cringes again - despite his growing fondness for Potter, he doesn't need a babysitter. 

But he's being hypocritical. He can't simultaneously hate Ginny from drawing Harry away from him, and hate Harry for wanting to be near him.

"Potter, there's no need." He says it shortly, a lot harsher than he intended it to be. He can tell that Harry picks it up immediately, but because he's somehow _always_ aware of what to do or say in a situation, he keeps his mouth shut about it. Draco's thankful, he does NOT want to have that particular conversation with Harry. Not now nor ever.

"Draco, I'm coming with you. It's non negotiable." 

A morbidly amusing thought crosses Draco's mind at that - even if he says no, Harry'll probably just follow him anyway. 

He never did think Harry Potter could ever be a stalker - more of the opposite really, but, here we are.

Draco's aware he's being ridiculous. Harry's not stalking him, really, it's a fantastical idea. But even as they get the all clear from Madam Pomfrey to leave, and are walking down the hallways to the dorms, Draco still can't shake the unsettling feeling that Harry was watching him - that he knew full well where he was.

Unsettling is the wrong word, perhaps. In a way, Draco thinks it's touching. That Harry cares enough to look out for him like that. But the more reasonable side of him is screaming itself hoarse, telling him to stay far, far away. 

It's hard, to do what's right, not what's easy. Maybe too hard, because the prospect of Harry being just as infatuated with Draco as Draco is with him ... it's too thrilling to give up. Exciting, but scary. Safe, but dangerous. It's too much conflict for Draco.

"How did you know? Where I was, how did you know?" He blurts suddenly. It's strange, Draco's always had exceptional control over his words. Something's different with Harry. He feels like he could tell the boy all his deepest, darkest secrets, the ones he'd locked away somewhere far into the pit of his heart; and that everything would be just fine.

Harry pauses for a second, stilling beside Draco. 

"I ... heard voices." 

Draco stops too, moving in front of him. " No, you couldn't have. By the time you would have heard, you would have been too late. "

"I was already close when I heard you. I was taking a shortcut out of the castle." He replies causally, the words tumble from his mouth like _second nature._

Draco feels incredibly stupid. Of course. It makes sense. Of course it makes sense. Doesn't it?

"What is it, why do you ask?" Harry asks, frowning.

Draco shakes his head dismissively. "Forget it. It's not important. I was just curious." 

Draco's overactive imagination had run amuck again. Stalking him, honestly. Naivety is a new skill Draco's seemingly beginning to master all of a sudden. 

Harry and Draco stop outside a potrait of a tired looking man, behind which lie the 8th year dormitories. 

The 8th year dorms aren't separated by house. Inclusitivity, or sportsmanship, or something like that - Professor McGonagall had given a good ten minute speech about it after the sorting ceremony. 

It's strange, really, because all the other years have houses. It's specifically the 8th years- no prizes for guessing why that is. 

"I should go. You can get in on your own, right?"

The boy who lived, legend for his bravery, looking jumpy. It's strange to say the least, but Draco doesn't know how he didn't notice before. The closer the pair had got to the dorms, the more anxious Harry looked. Now, he's basically bouncing on his feet.

Where's all that protective energy from before?

"You're not coming in?" 

"Oh- erm, no. Meeting Ginny remember?" 

Draco narrows his eyes marginally, a working theory starting to form.

"I saw her inside earlier, actually. I don't mind waiting for her to come out. Or we could go in and you could find her?" 

"No, really. That's alright. She said she'd meet me at a ... certain spot, I should get going." He scratches the back of his neck, and the rather bleak eureka moment hits Draco suddenly. 

_He doesn't want to be seen with him._

Well doesn't that make Draco feel like a million bucks. 

His head starts spinning with questions - _is he ashamed of me? Does he not trust me? Does he really care that much about his reputation?_

"See you tomorrow, Draco?" Harry seems to inexplicably KNOW he's messed something up; call it magic, if you will. He says it gently, like he's taming a wild animal.

He's using the words to extend an olive branch again, but this time, he's in the wrong. 

Draco's the one who has to do the forgiving. 

But if there's one thing that comes easy to Draco, it's holding grudges. 

"Sure." He says lowly, whispering the password and stepping past the threshold, into the communal living space for the dorms as quickly as he can. He's doing Harry a service by that apparently, seeing as he would like to take as little risk of being seen together as possible.

If Pansy were here, she'd tell him he's being petty. She'd be right. It's understandable that Potter wouldn't want his friends to know about them just yet. Understandable that he wants to spend time with his girlfriend. Understandable that he doesn't want people to see them together.

It's fitting in a way - Draco's always had the spotlight on him, now he's cast away into the shadows. Logically, it makes sense, he understands.

By then why does it hurt so much?


	6. Wet world aches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do we feel about Harry's POV? I'm thinking of dropping a couple chapters of his in there somewhere. Of course this will be predominantly from Draco's POV, but it seemed like a fun idea to throw in Harry! Tell me what you think by commenting! Love it, hate it, let me know!

"Harry. Harry!" Harry wakes with a groan, then a jump when he realises Hermione's standing over him.

"Hermione- what-" He fumbles for the blankets, drawing them up and over himself. She rolls her eyes - Hermione's never been the kind to wait for people to get up to speed.

"For Merlin's sake, Harry. Get up. We're going to be late!" 

He rolls over, fully intending to let his hazy mind get the better of him, leaving him to drift back into his potion induced dreamless sleep. But his plans are dashed when a soft projectile hits his head, drawing out another groan from the barely conscious boy.

"'Mione!" He cries, voice muffled by the fabric over his mouth. 

He can faintly hear her poorly disguised laughter. 

"You should have gotten up then!" 

He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his weary eyes, and thoroughly regretting staying up so late. 

A brief glance at the floor reveals the reason for his belated bedtime. 

Thank God Hermione was too busy with rather aggressively dragging Harry out of bed than her surroundings. 

He kicks the map underneath his bed in a smooth, fluid movement as he stands, stretching upwards and yawning theatrically.

"I'll wait outside. You have five minutes, Harry, or I swear-"

"Five minutes, got it 'Mione." He says quickly, offering her a placating smile, gently trying to usher her out as soon as possible. 

She huffs an annoyed sigh and leaves the room, leaving Harry to let out a breath of pure relief. 

He falls to his knees next to his bed after waiting a second to make sure the door won't swing open to a disgruntled Hermione chastising him again. 

He tugs the parchment out, silently cursing that he kicked it so far under in his panic to cover it up.

He shouldn't- really, not now. Hermione just said he had five minutes. If last night is anything to go by, it will take a lot longer than that for him to pry his eyes away. 

But he can't resist. 

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The words are more than just a password - they really do ring true. Harry can't imagine _stalking someone_ counts as 'good'. 

It never did. In 6th year, try as he may to explain it away under the guise of 'suspicious behaviour', his actions were still, ultimately unjustified. 

But really, it's not stalking, is it? He's purely worried about Draco. It's innocent. Yet it's somehow _innocently_ started to slowly take up a larger and larger portion of his time.

It's stupid, Harry has a life outside of classes and watching Draco. He's practicing quidditch again, started meeting up with Ginny for dates, his friends for outings. His life is as good as it can be, all things considered.

But why does he feel so ... empty then? Like he's just ticking off a box, filling out his name on a role. He really must have a deathwish, because a part of him - more prominently than he'd like to admit - yearns for the excitement, the adrenaline fueled adventures of his previous years at Hogwarts. Everything seems so ... dull now. Mundane.

Maybe that's why he's so fixated on 'redeeming' Draco. It's something new, strange and relatively _dangerous_ in a way. Maybe that's why he can't seem to take his mind off the boy. Maybe. 

Harry's gone and buggered that up too, though. He knows Draco's not an idiot, he was bound to find out why Harry's so nervous around him outside of the tranquility of thier little 'spot.'

It's not that Harry doesn't WANT to tell his friends. He just can't. It would complicate an already complicated, delicate, situation. 

It's easier this way. Anyway, why does it matter if Draco and Harry's friendship is kept quiet? It's not like Draco's his _girlfriend ,_ he doesn't get to act like people should know, or even take notice really. Harry can't understand why _Draco_ can't understand the position he's putting him in. He's acting like a jilted lover or something. 

Then again, he did get all of this from one conversation, so perhaps take his conclusions with a grain of salt, and because he didn't have the option of discussing it with Hermione, even more so. 

"Harry!" Ron's voice this time, followed by a harsh banging on the door. "What's taking you so bloody long?"

Harry groans yet again, and resolves to shelf his troubles, right next to the dark space in his drawer he pushes the map towards - out of sight, out of mind.

_He's out of mind._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so, so sorry for the delay. I had exam after exam this week, and now, I've unfortunately had the displeasure of falling ill, and there is a high chance I've contracted the 'dreaded' Covid-19 virus. There's definitely perks to it - I get to take time off school to watch Netflix, catch up on sleep and studies, and write all day!  
> -  
> I can't express how greatful I am to all those who commented and left kudos. You guys are amazing! Also to the people who subscribed, and the people who bookmarked my work, thank you so much. I feel so blessed to be receiving so much love.  
> I'll try to update sooner.


	7. Blue moon

Draco's nights are frequently host to nightmares. It's alright, Draco's gotten used to it. But it really does become an inconvenience during the day, when he's running on less than five hours sleep, and his god-forsaken wand isn't accurate enough to perform the intricate spell required for energy. 

The nightmares themselves aren't too awful. They're more memories than dreams, Draco supposes. So while reliving them is traumatic, he reasons that if he's survived them once, he can surely survive the _recollections_ of them again.

Well, that's his logical reasoning anyway. He's coming to realise that emotions and feelings are far from logical. 

He wakes from another aforementioned nightmare late, so late in fact that the moon is still high in the sky, the sun yet to start it's long climb up into it's place in the center of the universe.

His room is, for once, uncomfortably empty. Well, it's always empty, but not uncomfortably- disconcertingly so. Now the dull, static air eats into Draco's already isolation -damaged psyche, making his already intense shivers infinitely worse.

Shaking, he shrugs off his suddenly too heavy bedclothes, and slides his way out of bed. His feet hit the cold floorboards instead of his slippers, but it jolts him into awareness that little bit more, so he bares with the icy feeling.

Anything to detach him from the dream he'd been having, anything to pull him back to reality. 

It was a bad one. One that sticks around with him for most, if not all of the day that follows his sleepless night. 

It's funny, the memory associated isn't as painful physically like the other ones, but it still sits on Draco's consciousness and weighs him down like a stone to the bottom of a river. 

Curfew is still enforced for 8th years, but loosely. Should Draco be caught wandering around the halls, the worst he'd get would be a harsh scolding. To be quite honest though, in the state he's in even that would thoroughly rustle him.

Yet sitting in his room silently for the rest of the night would rustle him even more, so he pulls on his trousers and a coat over his night shirt, and slips quietly out of his dorm, aimlessly making his way through the never-ending corridors of the school.

Aimlessly is wrong, however, because his feet have a mind of their own, and lead him to the spot that's burnt into his memory. 

The water is glistening as always, the chilly breeze rippling the surface and distorting the moon's reflection into wavering pieces of bright, white, light.

The stars, minute but plentiful, follow the moon along in droves, accompanying it on it's journey across the infinite bounds of space. Draco thinks it to be nice; the moon, lonely as it is fabled to be, is never truly left without the company of the stars.

Lonely, Draco does appear to be. But he, unlike the moon, is left unaccompanied by anything, star or otherwise.

Perhaps Harry would be his solitary star. But the stars' only commitment is to the moon. Harry's commitments are far from singular. 

Somehow, a stone finds it's way into his hand - he doesn't remember picking it up, but he must've. It's not as smooth as the one Harry picked out for him; it's course, scratches his palm and makes him swear, dropping it again. Cursed stones, cursed skipping stones.

It rolls into the water with a plop as Draco sucks the blood from his skin, and a funny feeling rises in his chest. It keeps rising, through his lungs and up out of his throat. 

He's laughing. He's laughing and he can't stop. He laughs until his throat hurts, and the scratchiness is something to rival the sharp stone that left the still-bleeding scrape on his hand. 

And then, as if a switch had been flipped, his boderline hysterical laughter turns to completely hysterical sobbing. He's crying uncontrollably, shoulders shaking and hot tears creating channels down his face. 

He's gasping for breath at the end of it, knees pressed into the wet dirt, hands gripping his own sides in a pseudo-hug, comforting himself for there's no one else to do it for him. 

The sound of a branch cracking from behind him makes him quickly stagger to his feet, drawing his useless wand that's mostly for show, anyway. 

"Who's there? Show yourself!" 

When there's no reply, Draco mutters a _lumos_ \- four times, mind you- to get his wand to light up. 

When he can't see anything in the trees, he chalks it up to some small animal or something, because really, who'd be out this late, so far from the castle?

Even if Draco's small freak out was unwarranted, it did make him collect himself a bit more. The pain from his hand sobers him further. A _lumos_ spell is one thing, but for a healing charm to go wrong, well, Draco's more willing to just bind up the wound the muggle way. He's quite good at that, actually.

It's funny - he gets the strangest feeling someone's watching him. He's not scared, maybe in any other situation he would be, but he's comforted by the strange presence. He's not alone. 

"This is it. I'm officially insane." Draco murmurs, brushing the sand off his trousers. But even if the feeling is fabricated, it's still nice. 

He misses it, he realises with a start. Misses the feeling of being cared for, being checked up on, being listened to. Though he's loathesome to admit it, he likes being _helped_.

He doesn't just miss it, he misses _Harry._

Harry listens to him, he checks up on him, cares for him. That should be enough; girlfriend and best friends and the whole of Hogwarts be damned.

Draco steels his nerves, promising himself that tomorrow, he'd muster up the courage and push down his ego and apologise to Harry.

Now, he just has to wait for tomorrow to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no words for how sorry I am for the late update! Thank you to all the commenters and readers who've put up with my late ass.  
> P.s, I'm feeling a lot better.


	8. To err is human, to forgive, divine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 things, leave a kudos, leave a comment or just enjoy (I hope) reading!

Draco thoroughly regrets the decision he made last night. Apologising to Harry seems infinitely scarier now that the sun's up, and the moments until Draco's forced to see him again become fewer and fewer.

Actually, he's so put off by the notion, that he skips breakfast, far too sick with worry to even THINK about eating. 

A part of him wants to laugh at himself. He's behaving ludicrously. All he has to do is apologise, two little words, _I'm sorry,_ and they needn't talk about the incident ever again. 

You'd think that after everything Draco's been through, this wouldn't even rank in the top ten of his grand list of most stressful situations.

However, his knee bouncing up and down fervently underneath his desk would suggest otherwise. 

He just has to get through a few more hours of this torturous waiting, before he can run to the lake after class.

Somehow, Harry and Draco had come to a non-verbal agreement that they'd meet after their last class every other day,only because meeting everyday got a bit finicky, with Quidditch and assignments and whatnot. It's strange, how this arrangement has never been explicitly adressed nor confirmed, yet Draco's not exactly jumping to question it's validity. 

In fact, they're both so respectful towards the solidity of the arrangement that they've yet to miss a day; every time Draco's there, Harry is too. So much so that Draco's retrospective thought that _Harry_ was the one to cause his feelings of being watched last night held some weight in his mind for a little while. Such thoughts were ultimately dismissed, however. The idea is a bit out there, even for Draco's overactive imagination. 

Still, it's these firm reassurances that Harry will be there, regardless of their disagreement, that helps Draco keep to his promise.

And when the end of his last class rolls around,promise in mind, run to the lake he does. It's a strange concoction of emotion that spurs his steps onward. Worry, anticipation, a great deal of fear too. It's not a foreign feeling for Draco, but it really doesn't get easier with practice. 

Having said all this, you'd be forgiven for thinking that maybe, Draco's dreading the apology. And he is, in a way. But he's always been annoyingly pragmatic, so he realises that the only way to deal with the fear is to attack the root. 

Once he apologises, it'll be over. 

He's sure.

Well, pretty sure. 

Of course, Harry may choose to not forgive him, but really, he's _Harry Potter._ If he can choose to forgive Draco for 6th year, this should be a no brainer. 

The lake is uncharacteristically empty when Draco arrives. It plants a small seed of worry in Draco's head. 

_What if he doesn't come?_

But it's short lived, because a second later, the crunching of leaves from behind Draco announces Harry's entrance. 

"Hey. I wasn't sure you'd come." Harry starts, and it startles Draco into silence.

He never considered, between his sickly, all consuming-anxiety that _Harry_ would worry about _Draco_ not showing up too. 

"I didn't think that you would, either." 

Harry shrugs, feet scuffing the earth. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to see me, after ..." 

"Yes, after." Draco clears his throat. Apologising doesn't seem so scary now, more awkward than anything else. But Harry beats him to the punch. 

"Draco, I wanted to say sorry." Harry seems just as surprised at the words as Draco is. 

"I- what?" Draco splutters, thoroughly confused. This is _not_ how he expected this conversation to go. 

"I know why this, erm, _disagreement_ of ours blew out of proportion. Well, not out of proportion, I think you're completely justified in being upset with me, I just ..." He pauses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I was wrong. I wanted to say that what I was doing was wrong. I don't care who i'm seen with, really, I never have. You shouldn't feel like a scandal because I forgot myself for a moment. You don't deserve that." 

Draco's speechless again. The carefully constructed monologue he had so painstakingly prepared escapes him, and he's left standing there, stunned with a rather doltish expression gracing his face. 

"I should go." Harry mumbles, seeming dejected. _That_ surely slaps Draco into awareness. 

"No! Wait-" He says suddenly, making Harry's eyes light up again. "Forgive me, I was just ... confused." 

"Confused?" 

"Yes. I'd planned to apologise to you, I just wasn't expecting you to have done the same." 

Harry winces. "Actually, I didn't. I wasn't going to apologise at all. But then I got here, and I saw you and I dunno ... I realised I had to. You were right." 

Well that's a new one. 

"Oh." Draco says, intelligently. 

"And I wanted us to be okay again. I kind of missed you, Malfoy." 

Now this, this is too much. It's like he's in Draco's head. Actually, Draco's starting to think that maybe he really IS inside his head. Harry's got to be using some kind of _Legilimens_ charm. 

Harry looks at him expectantly. 

"What? Oh really, Potter, i'm not going to say I missed you too. What are we? Third graders?" He huffs quickly. Of course he'd never admit to it. His attachment to Harry shall forever remain hidden in some deep, obscure part of his mind. 

Harry smiles. "There you are." 

Draco rolls his eyes and looks away, more to hide his smile than to express any real annoyance. Being in the right is nice, sometimes. 

"Your hand-" Harry starts, and Draco automatically tugs his sleeve lower over his left arm, but it's the neatly wrapped bandages on his right that is his point of concern. "What happened?"

"I slipped." 

Well, he's not very well going to tell him he cut his hand trying to _skip a stone_ is he? 

Harry looks amused - more amused than he should be, quite frankly. What's so funny about someone having a fall? Draco could've died , or hit his head, or gotten injured!

All in his hypothetical fall, that is. 

"It's not funny!" Draco says obstinately. 

"I know, i'm sorry. Here let me see." Harry says, smiling. 

Draco hesitates. He doesn't know why, really. Probably due to his stubborn aversion to help. And probably in an equally large part due to his better judgment somehow turning to mush when Potter's too close to him.

"It's fine." Draco insists. 

Harry shakes his head, still smiling. "Give me your hand, Malfoy." 

Draco makes a small noise of disapproval when Harry steps closer and grabs his hand, but he makes no move to tug it back. 

"Did you wrap this?" Harry asks, unwinding the bandages.

"I did. Now you're undoing it." Draco says, grumpily. 

"Stubborn git. I was going to say that it was really well done." He says, grinning at the blonde boy. 

"Was being the operative word." Draco continues, flinching when Harry accidentally presses too hard against the wound. It looks a lot worse in the light of day. Nothing life threatening, obviously, but it's decidedly not pretty, all purple skin and stained blood. 

"Merlin, Draco. This is pretty bad." Harry breathes, reaching into his robes for his wand.

Funny, it was stinging quite badly all through the day, but now, Draco can't feel a thing.

That's not entirely true. He _can_ feel Harry's hand around his. As a matter of fact, it's the only thing he can feel. 

A quick healing charm later, and the cut is rapidly receding, healing itself swiftly. Draco almost wishes it hadn't worked, just so Harry would keep holding his hand. 

"Thank you." Draco says softly, pulling his hand back towards him. It's warm now, and not just because of the sun. 

"Why didn't you just ... heal it?" Harry asks. 

Sometimes, Draco misses Harry, his touch, his concern, his friendship. Other times, he wants to stick pins into the boy. How is it that Harry can be so selectively obtuse? So he can keep his mouth shut when Draco's upset with him, but not now, huh? 

"I can't." The humiliation paints his cheeks red. "The ministry wouldn't let me keep my wand. The one I have now won't let me cast most spells." 

"I didn't know." Harry murmurs. Draco can see the pity radiating off of him like a disease. "Will you get it back?" 

"Probably not. I'm not allowed to do advanced spells unless they're supervised,so they won't see the point in letting me have mine back." 

Harry frowns. "But what about classes? The N.E.W.T.s?"

"I have to borrow usually, just for the class. I'll have to talk with Professor McGonagall about borrowing one for the entirety of the N.E.W.T.s." 

Draco doesn't look at Harry while explaining. If there's one thing Draco can't bare, it's the awful, sinking feeling of shame. 

But disgust is absent from Harry's reply. "I'll talk to her, if you want. About getting your wand back."

Draco realises the likely hood of Harry succeeding in his endeavour is probably non existent, but the gesture means more to him than the act. His words were more than just that; words. He's really willing to let people know about them - and more than that, he's willing to publicly argue _in favour_ of Draco. 

"I can't ask you to do that-" 

"Then don't. I'm offering." Harry says, eyes twinkling. 

Draco smiles right back at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I know, for once she's on schedule! I wish I could promise you my next update will be as prompt as this one, dear readers, but unlike Draco, I'm not so sure I can stick to that promise. Por favor me perdoe?
> 
> I'm thinking of listing some songs I listen to while writing each chapter, so here you go for this one! 
> 
> Knock knock (TWICE) https://youtu.be/8A2t_tAjMz8  
> Falling (HARRY STYLES) https://youtu.be/olGSAVOkkTI  
> Just one day (BTS) https://youtu.be/DTcKkcyS410
> 
> Thank you for reading, you're all sweethearts!!


	9. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA i'm on time! To all those who doubted me, take that!

Draco's just as familiar with consequence as he is with pain. Which is useless, really, because it does little to prepare him for all the backlash. 

Turns out, letting people know he and Harry are friends was NOT, in fact, a victimless crime. 

This is made vividly clear when Harry invites Draco to sit with him at Breakfast the next morning. It's a bizarre idea, really. Draco's grown accustomed to skipping meals, breakfast in particular, to avoid the trouble (no eggs are worth the jeers). So it's just strange that he finds himself saying yes. 

"You have to eat something." Harry says, looking up from his plate at the other boy for a moment. Harry doesn't seem to have the same nausea Draco's starting to develop. 

"I can't. Look around, Potter. Everyone's staring." 

Draco shifts uncomfortably next to him, tugging at his sleeves, fiddling with his fork, sweeping his eyes back and forth over the room. He's about three seconds away from just standing up and racing out. 

Harry, to his credit, actually does glance around the room, but he just shrugs, going back to his food. "Let them. There's nothing we can do about it." 

"Potter!" Draco hisses quietly, glaring holes into the side of Harry's head. How can he be so carefree? He can't be that unaffected by it all, surely. Does he have no shame? 

Although, Draco does suppose he _was_ making a fuss about Harry not telling anyone before, perhaps he deserves this horror. It's certainly self inflicted. 

Maybe he's a closeted masochist. That would be nice, because then at least he'd find _some_ joy in this awful, horrible, catastrophic- 

"Draco, I asked you to sit with me, right? And you said yes, so sit with me. You're not here because of them." Harry says, offering him a lopsided grin that traps Draco's breath in his throat. 

Well, maybe it's not _all_ bad. 

"Don't worry about them. And _eat, please._ " He pushes a plate of bacon towards him, which Draco wrinkles his nose at. "No, come on. You don't like _bacon?_ Draco, it's _bacon._ " Harry says incredulously. 

"It's dripping oil everywhere." Draco couldn't sound more repugnant if he tried. "Look, it's going to stain your robes." 

Harry exhales a short laugh. "Okay, what about toast?"

"Too dry."

"Beans?"

"Mushy."

"Sausages?"

"Horrible texture." 

Harry throws his hands up in mock surrender. "I give up! Draco, what do you eat?" 

It's a trivial victory, but a victory nonetheless, so it still puts a smug smile on Draco's face. "Anything sweet. Scones, cakes, chocolates." 

It's Harry's turn to wrinkle his nose. "Sweets? For breakfast? Here I was thinking you were an adult, Draco." 

"Shutup. You asked," Draco shoots back indignantly. "Anyway, it's a great deal better than _bacon_." 

Harry slides down the bench, closer to the students on his left. He plucks a blueberry muffin from a basket in front of them. "Sorry, can I have this?" 

The students look as though they've been _stupefied._ None, not even the two girls who were oh-so-eagerly whispering to each other before can say anything now. 

"Erm ... thanks?" Harry says, and slides back over.

Draco has to bite his lip to hide the amused grin threatening to light up his face. Sometimes Harry's disregard for social niceties can be a good thing. 

"One blueberry muffin. It's sweet, you've got to eat it." Harry says, dropping the muffin onto Draco's plate with a triumphant look. 

It _is_ sweet, however Draco's not sure he's thinking solely about the muffin. 

But, true to Draco and Harry's track record, things don't go as they're supposed to. 

"HARRY!" 

Draco's eyes, along with Harry's and a dozen others', move towards the source of the noise. Draco's not entirely surprised at his findings. 

Ron Weasley, face ablaze the same color as his hair, comes charging towards them, with a distressed looking Hermione in hot pursuit. 

"Get away from him!" Ron snarls. But it's not Harry's he's addressing anymore, it's Draco. 

Draco's always known Ron to be ... let's say, _brash,_ but he really solidifies his reputation of acting before thinking when he marches forward, drawing his wand.

In an instant, both Harry and Draco are on their feet in front of him. 

"Ron! What are you doing?" Harry says, seemingly in disbelief. 

"Something I should've done before. Harry, move." 

At this, Draco's eyes widen. He doesn't think Ron would actually be able to get away with hexing him, not here, out in the open like this, but a threat is a threat, regardless of how shallow it may be. Also, it would take a great deal of courage to be _unafraid_ in the face of a borderline deranged wizard holding a wand at you. 

Harry does move; he steps in front of Draco, placing himself even closer between him and Ron's wand, because he's _still_ annoyingly Gryffindor. 

"Ronald, lower your wand. You're acting insane." Hermione says in a harsh whisper from behind him. 

"He's the one talking to _Malfoy,_ and _i'm_ insane? It's Malfoy." 

Draco flinches at his tone. It's accusatory, cold. Ron's never liked him, but it's not just hatred burning in his eyes. It's something much more visceral than that. 

"Let's not do this right here." Hermione tries again, and finally, Ron looks around, taking notice of all the eyes on them. His grip falters slightly, having the good sense to look at least a little chagrined. 

"How could you?" His voice shakes, just like the tremor in his hand, and the guilt, rushing in like a tsunami, hits Draco all at once. 

That look in his eyes, desperate, betrayed, _hurt._ Draco thought his days of hurting people were far behind him, he thought he'd never have to witness that kind of torture again. Yet here he is, watching history repeat itself rather awfully. 

No, not a victimless crime in the slightest. 

"Me or _him_ , Harry. You have to choose." He says, the ultimatum poisoning the air and making it hard for Draco to breathe steadily.

It was all going so well too. It's Draco's fault. His darling father would've scolded him for being so naive, so hopeful. The world's rougher than that, he's not a _child_ , he's supposed to know that. 

"Just listen, please." Harry says - no, _pleads_. 

" _Choose_." Ron repeats, leaning in to search Harry's eyes with his own. And then, he's walking out the same way he came in; agitated and upset. 

"Ron, wait!" Harry calls after him, but he doesn't turn. 

"Let him go, Harry." Hermione says quietly. "He needs to cool off."

Something tells Draco Weasley could take an impromptu vacation to the Arctic and it _still_ wouldn't help matters in the slightest. 

She pauses to survey the number of people still watching; dwindling, but still many.

It was quite the show they put on, they'd bound to have drawn an audience. "Let's sit."

But Draco's frozen to his spot, a certain numbness starting to spread through his body. 

"Draco?"

He looks at Harry, eyes shining. "I'm sorry." 

"Draco ..." Harry starts, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

Draco doesn't stick around to hear Harry dishonestly tell him it's _'not his fault'_. 

Maybe he calls after him like he did with Ron, but he can't hear it. He can't see much either; tears fill his eyes and blur his vision. 

Ron was wrong, Harry doesn't have to choose. Draco'll do that for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs I listened to while writing : 
> 
> Falling (HARRY STYLES) https://youtu.be/olGSAVOkkTI  
> Greek God (CONAN GRAY) https://youtu.be/5AZYUT5Sn38  
> Fools (TROYE SIVAN) https://youtu.be/vfD96yRT8cs  
> Epiphany (JIN,BTS) https://youtu.be/Mc9r_BrkLmg


	10. Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you solemnly swear that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
> 
> "I solemnly and sincerely declare and affirm that the evidence I shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I , if I do say so myself, am on a roll with this upload schedule!

He missed a day. 

It feels a lot worse than it seems. Realistically, all Draco did was not show up at the lake. 

But it's so much more than that. Draco _missed a day._ He, completely aware and under no compulsion or coercion whatsoever, purposefully disrupted the immovable routine they'd struck up. 

At least Draco feels terrible about it. Perhaps that could be his penance.

Although he's already working pretty hard to make up for his sins - with the amount of classes they share, avoiding Harry is damn near impossible. 

But Draco manages. Subtlety is out of the question; he's rather evidently ignoring Harry when he darts out of class as quickly as he can, or conspicuously turns his eyes away when their gazes accidentally meet. But, he manages.

Privately, he sources a little joy from the fact that Harry doesn't seem to be talking to Ron either. Or Ginny for that matter. It's a cruel twist of fate; finally Harry's free to be all Draco's, and he's not even Draco's anymore. 

Supposedly, not Draco's. 

Draco's unable to switch his feelings on and off, unable to attach and detach himself from someone at will. So when he notices Harry missing in his potions class, he's immediately concerned. 

His day is only made worse when Slughorn, in all his infinite wisdom, decides it would be a good idea to randomly pair up students for the practical. 

"Sportsmanship! There's never been a better time to make new friends, you know." He says, far too cheery for Draco's taste. 

He sits and watches as students get paired up one by one, silently rejoicing when Ron's paired up with a Ravenclaw boy. Or rather, not with him.

"Ah, that leaves ... Mrs Granger and Mister Malfoy." 

The class, some of whom bore witness to the incident and the rest quite well informed on it, stare at the unfortunate pairing in anticipation. 

Draco narrows his eyes in irritation. What do they expect? For Ron to up and curse him right there and then? 

Although, with the look that's currently fixed itself onto his face, Draco's not entirely sure. 

"I'll ... get the ingredients." Hermione says quietly to him. 

Draco nods once, somehow finding it within himself to overcome his gripes about the uneasy situation. He busies himself with arranging the equipment, but he still manages to catch the baleful look Ron throws his way. 

His pride, though a sin, is the only thing stopping him from childishly glaring back. Ron should just hex him and get it over with; _looking_ at someone is not a very effective way to wound them. 

An uncomfortable silence settles thickly over Hermione and Draco when she returns, both unsure of what to do other than finish the work set out for them. 

Hermione, unsurprisingly, takes the first tentative leap. Draco has to keep reminding himself of her Gryffindor status. 

"Have you talked to Harry?"

Its the first thing she's said to him outside of 'pass the porcupine quills', and hence is a touch jarring. Maybe it's not just her words that make Draco frown. It's the way she says it; like she's run out of options, despaired. 

"No. Your boyfriend made it clear I wasn't to." 

Hermione glares. "Don't do that Malfoy. I'm being civil with you." 

She's right, of course. Draco should extend her the same courtesy. It's just that it's such an open wound still; he'd rather not think about his 'Harry problems' (as he coined them), especially not with his best friend. 

"No, Granger, I haven't talked to him since two days ago." 

"Neither have I."

That surprises Draco. Ron and Ginny he understands, but Hermione? Why would Harry's cold shoulder extend to her? 

"Oh. I didn't realise." He's earnest when he says it. 

"Yes, well, your friendship with him seems to be having quite the affect on ours." She remarks sharply, pursing her lips. 

"Civil indeed." Draco replies sardonically.

Hermione, seemingly becoming aware of what she said, sighs loudly, rubbing her forehead. "Oh god, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." 

Oh, she definitely did.

"I'm just worried about him. He won't talk to me, or Ron, or Ginny. I was hoping he'd talk to you, at least." 

Suddenly, Draco feels guilty again. Harry's alone. He lost two friends in the span of two minutes, and he's left alone and probably very upset. 

"I don't understand ... why is he upset with you?" Draco asks. 

Hermione shakes her head. "He's not. He's _upset_ with Ron. He just won't _talk_ to me." 

Ah, so Harry's avoiding his own 'Draco problems' by refusing to talk about them. It's a tried and tested strategy, in his - and Draco's - defence.

"Draco, we're not friends, and god knows I hate the things you've done, but ... please, just talk to Harry." 

Of course, his instinct is to refuse. He didn't go through the trouble of carefully avoiding Harry just to end up showing up at his door later on. But it hits him in that moment the inherent fault in his actions. He didn't stop talking to him for Harry, or for Ron. He did it for himself. Their friendship got too real, too quickly, and Draco couldn't stomach the downsides that came with it. 

So he did what he does best. Flee.

"I'll talk to him." He says, before he can change his mind and back out. 

It's almost worth it when he sees how Hermione's eyes sparkle with newly discovered hope. "Thank you, Draco. Really." 

Hermione, Draco decides, isn't so bad after all. 

###

But by that evening however, he's rather vehemently cursing her in his head. Why on earth did he agree to do this? He's been standing outside Potter's room like a lost puppy for the past five minutes, trying to work up the courage just to _knock_. That's right, he's already sweating bullets and Harry hasn't even spoken to him yet. 

_For Merlin's sake, Draco. Just knock on the damn door._

Swallowing the rough lump in his throat, he raps his knuckles sharply on the wooden door. "Potter? It's Draco."

There's a rustle behind the door, and way too soon, the handle is turning and the door swings inwards with a squeak.

Harry stands, not in robes, but grey sweatpants that hang too lowly and a stained hoodie with a large muggle slogan on the front. His hair is messier than usual, and his glasses are missing, distracting Draco even more efficiently with his clear emerald eyes. 

Draco's tongue tangles itself; he can't speak for a long moment. Harry should look much better with his expensive, tailored robes, but here, he looks completely at home. It suits him, better than any robes ever could. Draco's transfixed.

"Draco...?" Harry asks, frowning. 

Color fills Draco's cheeks when he realises his mistake. "I'm- you weren't there. In class. We- I, wanted to know you were alright."

Harry studies him. It's uncomfortable, Draco shifts under his scrutinising gaze. He feels like Harry's searching his very soul, laying him out bare and drawing all the secrets he'd fought to keep hidden out into the light. 

But all he does is step back, gesturing for Draco to enter. Draco inwardly exhales in relief, stepping into the room, _Harry's_ room. 

The whole point of separating the 8th year dorms was to discourage House chauvinism, but Harry doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. His bed, rug, and curtains are discordantly red and gold when compared with the the rather dull, monochromatic tone of the rest of the room. In the far east corner, a handful of wooden chairs have been pushed out of the way into a haphazard pile. When Draco cranes his neck to look over the bed, he notices the muggle weight training equipment scattered on the floor in front. 

Other than that, Harry's room is basically indistinguishable from his own. Or it would be, if Harry wasn't so messy. The small kitchenette is overflowing with clutter, and almost every surface in the room is covered with nicknacks, or photos. 

"Stop." Harry says, closing the door and walking past Draco to pick up the dumbbells and dump them in a chest nearby. 

"I didn't say anything." Draco protests.

"You didn't have to." Harry half smiles, like he's fully aware of his shabbiness, daring Draco to say something more. 

"So," Harry folds his arms over his chest and look at him. "What did Hermione tell you to say?" 

"What?" Draco says dumbly. Harry, standing in that pose with his hair tousled and his awfully casual muggle clothes stunts Draco. 

"She asked you to come, right? Don't say no, I know she did." 

"If you're so sure, why are you asking?"

"Draco." Harry says, exasperated. 

"She just asked me to talk to you. You've never missed class." Not that Draco's keeping tabs. 

"You've never missed a day before." Harry says, quieter. "First time for everything." 

Draco winces, and the guilt comes rushing in again. "I didn't want to. I just thought it would be easier."

"For who?" 

It's a perfectly valid, _good_ question even, so naturally Draco's hackles rise all the way up. 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry shakes his head. "Draco, come on. You didn't really want to make it easier for me." 

Draco, of course, knows this. In fact, he was going to repeat a similar statement to him as an apology. But Harry saying it just irks him. 

"You think I did it for _me_? Yes, Potter, I was just _longing_ to be publicly humiliated so I could _finally_ have a reason to rid myself of you!" He spits, temper peaking drastically. 

"You know that's not what I meant, Malfoy." Harry sounds frustrated, Draco's words successfully ruffled his feathers. 

"Forgive me, I must have heard you wrong." Draco's voice drips with all the poison of his younger self's. "Because it sounded a lot like you were implying I relinquished our friendship for _myself._ "

"You did! Admit it Draco, you panicked, and you ran."

"I did it so you wouldn't have to choose between me and your precious friends!" 

"No, you did it because you couldn't bare to see me choose them." Harry scoffs, spitting out the words before he really registers what he's said. 

Draco stops. Harry's words are a knife through his chest; Draco feels the tug on his heart as though it really was being ripped from inside him. Harry's truth is the sun, and the longer Draco stares, the more damage it does. 

"Go to hell." Draco whispers, turning on his heel and making to leave. 

"Wait." Harry says, after a few second. Draco's hand hovers over the door handle. "I'm sorry. Please don't go. I shouldn't have said what I did."

The apology rapidly dulls the fire that had been burning so intensely within Draco, sobering him and bringing him back to his senses. 

Draco shuts his eyes, mentally preparing himself for the next words that leave his mouth. "No. You should've." Draco turns. "You're right. I did it because I didn't want you to pick him. Because I was ... _scared_ that you'd pick him." 

Somehow, even when he's being vulnerable, Draco manages to still sound poised. 

"You're both in my life. Ron couldn't convince me to hate you, just like you can't convince me to hate Ron. I'm not going to pick. It's bloody ridiculous." He growls, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. Clearly, Harry's spent more than a moment's thought on this. "He's never overreacted like this." 

That's somewhat of a reassurance, Draco supposes. "Regardless, he'll still make you choose." 

"And I won't." Harry says firmly. "Ron will come around." 

Draco's in no mood to argue with Harry further, so he keeps his mouth shut on the issue. "You know," He starts, when the space fills with silence again.

"I really didn't want to miss the day." 

"I know. It's how I know you won't miss another one again." He smiles at the blonde boy. "Hey, do you want a cup of tea or something?" 

Draco can do little more than nod numbly and shiver. There's something about the way Harry said it; informal as it is authoritative, that sends tingles down Draco's spine. 

And, as Draco's finally fixed one issue, another arises. 

The electrifying touches, the possessiveness, the concern and the care. The revelation makes Draco sway on his feet, forcing him to sit heavily on the nearest chair. 

It can't be, yet it is. It's so painfully obvious that a blind man could see it from a mile away.

_He's got a crush on Harry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to all the people who left kudos, commented and read! Please, Please leave comments, they're very very encouraging to see. Commenters (especially one special one amongst you, you know who you are😋) thank you to the moon and back! Cookies to all the people who subscribed and bookmarked and left kudos too! All you other lovely readers are awesome too!  
> Songs for this Chapter:
> 
> Another love (TOM ODELL) https://youtu.be/MwpMEbgC7DA  
> Visions of Gideon (SUFJAN STEVENS) https://youtu.be/IDgR3FNlsUM  
> Waves (DEAN LEWIS) https://youtu.be/dKlgCk3IGBg  
> Give me love (ED SHEERAN) https://youtu.be/FOjdXSrtUxA


	11. Draco, not Malfoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "One of the hardest lessons in life is letting go, whether it’s guilt, anger, love, loss or betrayal.  
> Change is never easy, we fight to hold on and we fight to let go."  
>  \- Mareez Reyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lil late, but i'm here!  
> Another one from Harry's POV, let's see what he really thinks of Draco.

"Remember, just be gentle with him, okay? He's really upset, Harry." Hermione says it in a hushed whisper, one hand tightening around Harry's arm. 

"Ouch! Hermione-" He says, gingerly detaching her from his side. Not for the first time, Harry's starting to wonder if maybe she's more anxious about this than he is. "Don't worry, really."

Hermione huffs. "I hardly think telling me not to worry will help anything." 

"It's moral support!" Harry says, defensively. Hermione's nerves have started to rub off onto him, making him teether dangerously on edge. But surely Ron can't stay mad at him for so long, even given the circumstances. I mean, it's not like Harry's _killed_ anybody. Actually, even then he'd stake a large sum of money on Ron still being on his side. 

They have way too much history to let something like this affect them. Right?

"Alright. I'll wait out here, if you need me." She makes no move to leave from Harry's side, instead chewing up her lip in worry. Harry looks at her pointedly. 

"'Mione." 

"Yes, alright. I'm going." 

Even after he knocks on Ron's door, he can feel her eyes on him, making him squirm. Now he knows what pet fish feel like. 

Ron opens the door promptly, but upon seeing Harry, goes to slam it in his face. Harry's anticipating the reaction, so he quickly jams his foot between the door and the frame, stopping Ron from closing it fully. He winces at the contact; it's a lot more painful than movies make it look. 

"Move." Ron growls.

"No. Let's talk, Ron. Come on, this is ridiculous." 

That was the wrong thing to say. "Is it? Oh well, pardon me then." He slams the door on Harry's foot again, making him grunt in pain, _again_. It's an interesting way to acquire a fracture, for sure. Oh, my friend stubbed _my_ foot on _his_ door. 

"Ron, i'm sorry. Just let me in, yeah?" 

Ron considers Harry for a moment. "Fine." He mutters, opening the door and _finally_ relieving the pressure off Harry's foot. Not a second too soon either, it was starting to go numb. 

The room looks off in the same way Harry's does; single dorms sound great until you start to miss the closeness and company of your friends. The single bed, single wardrobe, single bookshelf; it's all wrong. 

Ron lets the door slam shut with a loud bang behind him, and Harry realises he can't handle Ron the way he handled Draco. 

He knew that before, really. It's why he came to Ron, not the other way around like Draco did yesterday. They're both stubborn, but in different ways, which means Harry's got to get through to Ron differently. 

"Talk."

"Ron, I know you're angry-"

"Really." 

Ron, in the span of 30 seconds, has already started to thoroughly vex Harry. That's got to be some sort of record. 

"And i'm not blaming you. It's not your fault." 

"Glad we can agree on something, then." 

"Ron, i'm trying to be understanding here!" Harry says, prematurely snapping in his frustration. He thought he'd loose his cool at _least_ two minutes into the conversation. 

"It's not so bloody hard to understand, is it! You're _best mates_ with Malfoy! He tried to _kill_ me 6th year! He's a Deatheater, Harry! And he's _Malfoy_!" 

Harry knows how personal this is to Ron. God knows how the Malfoys have beaten down his family to smithereens with their vicious vocal tirades. It couldn't _not_ be personal. But if he could just get him to see Malfoy for who he is, not who he thinks he is, he'd be okay. 

"I know. Ron, I know. But just listen for a sec. He's changed, really, he has. I swear he's not who you think he is." 

It's the same speech Harry gave to himself when he made the decision to befriend Draco. He took a chance, went out on a limb; and in the end it all turned out quite well.

Draco's thoughtful, and smart, and _caring._ Maybe he's not openly sweet in the traditional sense, his prickly nature prohibits him to be, but he's solicitous in his own, strange way. It's why he came to Harry, (even though he was prompted by Hermione) just to make sure he was okay. 

Draco is, in Harry's eyes at least, a wonderful person, and a great friend. 

He wishes everyone could think of him the same way. Alas, Harry's wishes seldom ring true. 

"He's a snake. He'll lie just to get you to trust him, and when you turn your back he'll bite, i'm telling you. He's playing you!" 

"Ron, he's lost everything! His family, his friends, his reputation. I really don't think plotting to take me down is high on his to do list." 

Ron, finding it hard to contest that, looks away. "But it's _Malfoy._ We've hated him since 1rst year." He sounds to be in a state of disbelief. Harry understands that, too. Ron's lived most of his life knowing Malfoy to be an arrogant, racist git, who cared for no one but himself. It's hard, to shift a view that's been so firmly attached. But then, if Draco can change, why shouldn't Ron? 

At some stage for Harry, Malfoy started to become Draco. Draco's different from Malfoy. Malfoy's awful; rude and childish; an irredeemable bully who Harry would sooner hex before getting to know. But Draco, Draco's like an old book. Falling apart at the seams; a shadow of a former glory; But filled with so many secrets and stories you can't help but want to read. 

Ron hasn't met Draco yet. 

"I _know._ That's my point. We're not kids anymore. It's time to move on, Ron. Life's too short, you know that." 

Perhaps it's wrong, to allude to the war like he did, but it seems to trigger a reaction from Ron, so Harry doesn't let himself feel too bad. 

"I can't Harry. It's too weird. Every time I see him, I just ... I think about everything he's done and I can't block it out." 

"I can vouch for him!" A third voice interjects. It's Hermione, bounding into the room. She'd obviously been listening to every word, as expected. "In potions, today. He was just as much of a wart at first, and I thought he really hadn't changed, but then I asked him to talk to Harry, and he said yes in a heartbeat." 

"So...?" Ron prompts. He looks as though he wants to point out that this was supposed to be a private discussion, but years of knowing Hermione stops either of them from vocalising such thoughts. 

"So," Hermione says, rolling her eyes as though Ron was being intentionally witless. "He cares about Harry. A lot. Why else would he jump to make sure he was alright?" 

Ron wrinkles his nose. "Care and Draco Malfoy. Merlin, this is too much for me." 

"You don't have to hold hands and braid each other's hair, Ron. Just tolerate him, please. That's all i'm asking." Harry says. 

"Tolerate him."

"Yeah." 

"Tolerate him sitting with us?" Ron presses. 

"I dunno ... maybe, Ron. I hardly have it all planned out in my calendar." Harry huffs, annoyed by the line of questioning. Honestly, he hadn't thought that far. Though he supposes it would be nice to not have to designate seperate timings for his friends. Ron on Wednesdays, Draco on Fridays has the potential to get a little sticky. 

"Okay." Ron concedes. 

"Okay?" Harry asks again, just to clarify. Ron could change his mind any time now. 

"Okay, Harry. I'll tolerate him." 

Harry's never felt this light in his entire life! Well, maybe that's not entirely true, but it sure is a good feeling to finally close the chapter on this stupid, stupid fight. 

But Hermione just can't resist ruining it, can she? "Great! Ginny next." 

Harry groans. It's going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyo! I probably sound like a broken record, but I love all of you readers and commenters and subscribers and bookmarkers and - let's just say I just love you all <3
> 
> Songs : 
> 
> The scientist (COLDPLAY) https://youtu.be/RB-RcX5DS5A  
> Youth (TROYE SIVAN) https://youtu.be/XYAghEq5Lfw  
> All I want (KODALINE) https://youtu.be/d6i-lvRkB8M  
> Somewhere only we know (KEANE) https://youtu.be/Oextk-If8HQ


	12. The Saviour and the Deatheater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Living with your eyes half open  
> You've been thinking 'bout these changes  
> It's all gonna work out  
> It's all gonna work out someday"  
> \- Lauv, Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop woop, Chapter 12!! Please leave kudos and comment! Thank you all!!

_Calm down, let's think about this rationally._

So, it's not certain that he likes Harry. Maybe he's just confused. That's got to be it. He's confused and he's latched on to Harry because he provides a rare sense of comfort to Draco. That's all it is, surely. 

But the way he ogles him when his button up is too tight, or the way his fingers twitch when his collar is out of place and he has to stop himself from reaching over ... it all suggests one, albeit terrifying, conclusion. _He must like Harry_. 

God, Draco did _not_ sign up for this. This year was supposed to be complicated enough with the whole wizarding world's eyes on him, watching, waiting for him to slip up. He does **not** need an inconvenient crush on the _saviour_ to make things even worse.

He just doesn't understand it! How can he like Harry? When did he start liking Harry? Why, in the name of all things holy, does he like Harry at all?

Yes, he's always been acutely aware of how attractive Potter had progressively become over the years; he saw all the girls pining after him and throwing themselves at his feet rather pathetically in his senior years at Hogwarts. And yes, Draco's also aware of his own occasional more-than-friendly feelings towards certain guys. Blaise Zabini for example; oh the many nights he spent fantasising about him.

But Draco never thought much of it. It was always just expected that he'd marry someone respectable, rich, probably horribly arrogant, and most importantly, _female_. 

And of course, his father never talked to him about love. In fact, the only thing he said on the subject was;

_'Marriage isn't about love, Draco. It's about necessity.'_

So he'd never voiced such attractions. Nothing would've come of it. Merlin knows _his father_ wouldn't have cared what he wanted.

But even though he's gone, Draco's starting to realise it doesn't make much difference. He still can't have a relationship with the someone he truly likes. 

He groans, dropping his forehead onto his folded arms.

He was supposed to be working on a Defence Against the dark Arts assignment. He'd never let anything distract him from schoolwork before (apart from the looming threat of the Dark Lord, obviously). It's another reason he and Harry would never work out. Harry's far too distracting. With his square jaw, and slight stubble, and messy hair Draco's dying to run his fingers through ... no, they'd surely make a poor match. 

And anyway, he's got the Weasley, right? Why on earth would Harry choose Draco over Ginny? Or Draco over anyone for that matter. No, it's better this way. He should just dismiss these ridiculous feelings; go back to focussing on his work and the N.E.W.Ts. 

Harry's a friend, just a friend. That should be enough for Draco. 

It _**should** _be. 

###

"You're late." 

Draco sniffs irritably at Harry, making a show of waving his muggle watch around in the other boy's face. He can't cast very reliable Tempus charm with his new wand, so he's been reduced to wearing the clunky, silver plated thing under his robes. It can't be so bad; it was too expensive to be bad, even by muggle standards. 

"I didn't realise we set a time, Draco." 

"Well ... you're still later than usual, hence, _late_." It's not Harry's fault, really. Draco's just taking out his frustration on him. He figures if he can't see Potter as 'just a friend' - he discovered that soon after vowing to rid himself of his feelings, much easier said than done - he should at the very least get some grace period to vent his dissatisfaction. 

"What's gotten under your skin, Malfoy?"

_You._

"Nothing. You're just late." Draco says, through gritted teeth. He's got to get a hold on himself. Harry can't find out, he can never _ever_ find out, not until Draco's alive and breathing. He'd sooner live his life as a muggle than have Harry know about his ... _crush._

"You're a terrible lier." Harry snorts, moving closer. "Tell me or i'll keep bothering you until you do."

Harry's annoyingly stubborn. Actually, it makes sense he's bonded so well with the people he has; they're _all_ annoyingly stubborn. Harry's just especially annoyingly stubborn, because _his_ stubbornness is coupled with unbearable righteousness, which leaves Draco quite at the mercy of his incessant pushiness. 

"You really do have the maturity of a toddler, Potter." 

"Tell me, Draco." He presses on, unaffected by Draco's comment. He's heard too many anyway, they all blend into one. Draco makes a mental note to up his game. 

"Potter-"

"Draco." 

He looks away, at the ground beneath his feet, studying the earth more intensely than he ever did in Herbology. "I don't want to talk about it." 

"Fine." Harry concedes, and for a second, Draco's worried he'll walk away. "Then i'll talk."

Draco looks up, furrowing his eyebrows. Harry _does_ walk away, but only a few paces. He drops his bag carelessly onto the ground, then he lowers himself down next to it, back resting against an old tree trunk. He looks at Draco, expectant. 

"I am _not_ going to sit in the _dirt_!" Draco says, folding his arms over his chest. 

"You'll be standing for a long time, then." 

Draco considers his options. Dirty robes and close proximity to Harry wins, of course. 

But he does play it up, he can't seem _too_ happy to be near him. Draco groans dramatically, more gently releasing his bag onto the floor and sitting cross legged next to Harry, close enough that they're barely centimeters apart. 

"I don't know what I want to do after this year." Harry starts, cutting straight to it. Blunt, as always. "Everyone's decided for me. But I don't _know_." 

Draco frowns. First of all, it's strange Harry's telling him to begin with. Second of all, the thought that the great _Harry Potter_ is unsure of himself doesn't really instil hope into Draco. "You're Harry Potter. Anybody would want you working for them." 

"That's the problem." Harry says. "I'm going to sound like a prat saying this, but there's too many choices. Too many people want me to do too many things. Everyone's expecting me to be amazing, live some extraordinary life. I don't want to be boring, but I don't want to be _Harry Potter, the saviour_ anymore." 

Just like how Draco doesn't want to be _Draco Malfoy, the Deatheater_ anymore. He'd been thinking the wrong thing about Harry; envious of how loved, how respected he is. But he's also watched incessantly, criticised, paraded about like a spectacle. They're more alike than Draco thought. 

"There's talk of making me the next Minister of Magic, after a couple years. Can you imagine that? It's insane!" 

A Minister of Magic, that young ... it's unprecedented. Boderline nonsensical. 

Draco, without his own consent, finds himself sympathising with Harry. Draco could, theoretically, hide himself away like a recluse after this year, never to be seen again if he wanted. Harry has no such chance. He continues to be forced into a role he doesn't want, well after Voldermort's death. 

"Of course everyone's all for it." Harry says, angrily ripping up tufts of grass, staining his hands green. "Making me into some ministry official. So how can I say anything about it? I'd let so many people down." He dusts off his hands, sighing. 

Draco's silent, thinking. "Why are you telling _me_ all this?" 

"I like this, Draco. Meeting here, I mean. But we've never talked about stuff like this before. I want to be able to."

"Why not tell Ron? Or Hermione, or Ginny?"

"There's things I tell Ron, and not Hermione, and things I tell Hermione and not Ron. There's things I can just tell you too. Things I think you'll understand in a way they couldn't." 

Draco's quiet again. Harry saw their similarities before him. And more than that, he _trusts_ Draco. "I don't believe you don't want to be the saviour anymore."

Harry looks confused, so Draco elaborates. "I think you still wish to help people, just not in the way the world's expecting you to. Not in such a ... public way. There's nothing inherently wrong with that." 

Harry stares at him for a moment, just smiling. 

"What?" 

"I'm glad I told you."

Draco can't fight down the small smile that spreads across his face. It dulls as they sit in a comfortable silence, staring out at the water's edge. Something in him feels as though he needs to return Harry's favour. 

"I don't want to be my father." Draco blurts suddenly, disrupting the calm. He feels Harry's eyes turn towards him, but his own gaze remains unflinchingly steered towards the river. "When I leave here, I don't want to become what he wanted me to be." 

"What's that?" 

He turns to face Harry. 

"Cold, Distant. A bigot. Someone who'd rather be feared than loved." Draco's saying too much, he's being too vulnerable. But Harry's looking at him with those warm eyes, and Draco lets himself get lost in their comforts. "I don't want to be feared, or hated." 

_I want to be loved. I just want to be loved._

"Do you miss him?" Harry asks carefully, like Draco may explode if he says the wrong thing. Considering how Draco tenses at the question, it may not be a ridiculous concern. 

It's a question Draco has to ask himself first. Does he?

"I don't know. On occasion, maybe. He's my father, regardless of everything else." It's the truth. Maybe Draco doesn't miss Lucius, but he surely does miss the idea of him. The idea of having a father. It's what he always clung to, through all the times Lucius made him feel like he wasn't his son. "Do ... you? Miss your father?" 

Harry looks away this time. "Everyday." 

They're silent again, then, the sound of their breathing filling up the empty space. "Thank you." Draco says.

"What for?" 

"For telling me, Harry." 

His name sounds foreign but yet so familiar in his mouth. It's right. 

And Harry, realising the significance but utilising his _highly_ selective ability to remain quiet when he needs to be, smiles. 

"Anytime, Draco." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, he finally called Harry by name, huh? Big step. 
> 
> Songsss: 
> 
> Lego House (ED SHEERAN) https://youtu.be/c4BLVznuWnU  
> Magic Shop (BTS) https://youtu.be/hLf6yZPJyvM  
> Secrets (ONE REPUBLIC) https://youtu.be/qHm9MG9xw1o


	13. To Belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dear child, the belonging you seek is not behind you… it is ahead.” - Maz Kanata, Star Wars: The Force Awakens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one, bit early this time!

"Harry, I swear to Merlin himself, if you give me another excuse-" 

Draco can hear Hermione's voice faintly, muffled by the door. He wishes it could muffle the thoughts zapping around his head as well. 

Something evil and malicious and hell bent on ruining Draco's life must've possessed him when he agreed to help Hermione clean up Harry's room. Really, there's so much that could go wrong. Draco embarrassing himself in front of Hermione, for one. 

And to think, she blamed _him_ for planting the idea in her head. All he'd said was that Harry's room deserved a thorough clean. 

Actually, no, he can see why that would inspire her to do so. 

He knocks on the door, as nervous as he was last time he did so, but for remarkably different reasons. "It's Draco." He calls through the wood. 

"Shh, No, be quiet. We'll talk about this later. And for god's sake, Harry, put that thing _away._ " Hermione says, and Draco can feel her icy stare even through the door. What on earth are they talking about? 

"Draco! Come in." She's 180'd by the time she greets him, a welcoming smile plastered on her face. But Draco knows better, from the strands of hair that have come loose from her tight ponytail, and that tired look in her eyes. 

Maybe offering his help was a good idea after all. She looks like she needs it. 

He smiles back, and steps in. Somehow, it's even more of a mess than the last time he saw it. There's stuff _everywhere._ Book, picture frames, clothes and various other objects litter the floor. Actually, Draco's not entirely sure there still _is_ a floor. It looks, quite literally, like a tornado went through the room. He suspects the tornado's name is Hermione. 

"Forgive me but ... aren't you supposed to be making his room _less_ , erm - _this_?" 

"That's the idea. But Harry refuses to part with any of this!" She says, staring dangerously at a rather sheepish looking Harry, standing in the middle of it all. 

"Draco." He says in greeting. "And everything here's important, 'Mione. I need all of it." 

"You do not need _all_ of it, Harry!" 

"She's probably right." Draco assents, still trying to come to terms with the extraordinary amount of _stuff_ Harry's got. It's quite the collection. 

"Take her side, why don't you?" Harry says jokingly. Draco shrugs. 

"I don't think even _i've_ got this much, Harry." 

Harry, apparently not registering the words, smiles. "Well, _Draco,_ some of us like to come prepared." 

Draco returns his playful grin. He doesn't notice her, but Hermione notices them, glancing between the two. He should be careful; she's more perceptive than she lets on. 

She clears her throat to get the focus back on her. "Well. Good thing you're here. Here-" She hands him a wand, which he frowns at. 

"Did you-" He starts, looking at Harry in question. He didn't explicitly tell him not to tell her about his 'wand situation', but he thought it was quite clear he didn't want it to be public knowledge. But Harry shakes his head, looking just as confused as he does. 

"He didn't. I noticed in most of our practicals, you asked to borrow one, and I kind of put it together. This one's one of my spares. It's not brilliant, but it'll do. All it has to do is cast an _Evanesco_ or two anyhow." 

Hermione really _is_ perceptive. It's her shrewdness that infuriated him so before; he could only ever come second to her first. 

"Thank you." He says, in earnest. He doesn't like that Hermione knows, but it's a kind gesture, and he's recently grown rather fond of those. 

"Right. Let's get going." 

Get going they do. Or at least, they try. He understands why Hermione looked so frazzled when she opened the door; Harry's absolutely impossible to work with. He's some sort of hoarder, surely, because he flat out rejects the idea of throwing _anything_ away. 

But, after an hour or two, they manage to wear him down enough to clear away a large portion of the clutter. Draco couldn't be happier, the mess was starting to suffocate him. Not that he was planning on making appearances at Harry's dorm a habit. No, he hadn't dreamt about spending extended amounts of time here, really. What a ridiculous accusation. 

"Tea break?" Harry asks, and both Hermione and Draco enthusiastically agree. It's fulfilling work, Draco feels as though he's accomplished something, but tiring all the same. 

It wasn't so boring, though. Hermione's really quite nice. She reminds him, in many ways, of himself. 

It's nice to see her as a friend rather than a rival. 

"Damn, out of milk. I think Ginny's got some." Harry says, placing the mugs - finally cleaned and polished- back onto the counter. "She's got Quidditch training, but i'm sure I left her key here somewhere ..." 

"Harry." Hermione says, holding up the keys with an eyebrow arched. 

He flashes her a smile, grabbing them. "Have I ever told you how amazing you are?" 

"Not enough. Now get lost. And hurry, I need that Tea." She calls after him.

Draco watches him go, a part of him bitter that he's got Ginny's key. He hasn't got any right to be; Ginny's his girlfriend, of course he'd have her key. But he can't help but imagine it's _his_ key Harry's got. 

"It looks a lot better, doesn't it?" Hermione says, and it takes a second for Draco to realise she's talking to him. 

"Undoubtably. I feared the clutter would consume him." 

Hermione laughs, shaking her head. Draco thinks about how easier it is to make her laugh than to maker her cry. He wonders why he ever tried, _how_ he could have ever tried. 

"You know, I couldn't believe you said yes. It's not really your scene." Hermione says. It's dressed up to be casual, but Draco can hear how calculated it is. Not in a bad way; it's admirable how protective she is over Harry. 

"No, it's not. But Harry was in dire need of help, so ... here I am." 

"That's ... really nice of you, Draco," She says, watching him with a funny look. 

"Well, I'm making up for lost time." 

She's quiet at that, and Draco needs to say what he's thinking. "Listen, Granger, I wanted to apologise. For everything I said to you, everything I did-" 

She waves him off. "Don't apologise. It's in the past. Really, if someone had told me i'd be getting along with _Draco Malfoy_ , I would've never believed it. But Harry's right; you've changed. You're not who you were." 

Harry said that? Harry _talks_ about him? 

He hates that the thought of that gives him butterflies. Truly, he hates it. 

"Regardless, i'm sorry." He says.

Hermione nods, and smiles broadly. "You're forgiven." 

"Got it!" Harry, oblivious to the prior conversation, bounds into the room, holding up the carton of milk like a trophy. 

Hermione rolls her eyes, only so Draco can see it, and stands. "Well done, Harry. Now maybe make the tea?" 

Harry pulls a face at her. "You're no fun, 'Mione." 

She snatches the carton from him with a glare, and sets about helping him with the tea. Harry sends him a wink that makes his heart flutter nearly out of his chest. 

And Draco, for once, feels like he truly belongs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who read and commented! No songs this time :( I legitimately just sat in silence as I wrote this !


	14. A dream is a wish your heart makes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All our dreams can come true. If we have the courage to pursue them."  
> \- Walt Disney

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long one this time, to celebrate this fic's one month anniversary! I can't believe how much support this has accumulated over just one months, it's incredible. Thank you so much, guys. Enjoy the chapter (it's packed with fluff and protective Harry, just you wait and see <3)

Draco's exhausted by the end of the day; cleaning Harry's room, despite Hermione's help, was a big job, and he's well and truly knackered by the time he finally gets back to his own room. 

It means that he's asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, which is a rarity; Draco's insomnia seldom shies away for any amount of weariness. 

But, instead of his usual nightmares, he dreams of something- or someone, rather - far more unsettling. 

_Harry._

Harry, lying in his bed. Harry, his hands all over him. Harry, fingers tugging at blonde, almost white hair, nails running down tan skin, breath filling up empty space -

Draco wakes, sweating profusely as usual, but under _entirely_ different circumstances. 

Draco somewhat regrets admitting to his inexpedient feelings for Harry, even if just to himself, because it suddenly made everything so much more _real._ It's like his own ignorance was the last barrier between him and the raging flood of emotion that finally hit in it's absence. Everything became so much more _intense_. His jealousy of Ginny, his nervousness around Harry, the overwhelming hurt that threatens to consume him sometimes- it's all so much more palpable now. 

It's awful; and it's amazing in a way. Draco had spent the months after his trial not sad, but empty. Void of feeling and any emotion other than bitter. Now, he's got _too many_ emotions, and though it's tiring and completely out of character, there's a certain thrill to it, the thought of what _could_ but never will, happen between them. 

It distracts him from the (mostly) repressed memories he's very happy to forget. 

Now, if only Harry could need Draco as much as Draco needs him. 

###

"Draco-" Harry catches up with him just as they're about to enter their Defence Against the Dark Arts class. 

Draco's not entirely surprised, Harry's been talking to him more and more before, during, and after class now that the secret's out. What _does_ surprise him, however, is the way he pulls him back, stopping him from entering.

"Ginny's um ... _unwell_. Be my partner? It's just for today, hopefully she'll be back tomorrow." 

Draco wishes he could express just how much he hopes it's not _just for today._ But of course, he can't, so he settles on nodding. 

"Is she alright?" 

_Say no. Please say no._

God, he's going to be punished for thinking that, he knows he is. Wishing ill on someone is never a good thing. But it is rather cathartic for Draco.

"I dunno, she injured her leg in Quidditch yesterday. I took her to Madam Pomfrey and everything to get patched up, but she's still there now. She was there all night, too." 

Draco notes the bags under Harry's eyes, and the concern lacing his voice. Ginny probably wasn't the only one there all night. 

The jealously that is usually aroused in situations like this is misplaced by a deep admiration this time. He can hate their relationship as much as he wants, but he can't deny what an amazing boyfriend Harry is.

It's part of the reason he fell for him in the first place.

He thinks about that as they sit, Draco up the front next to Harry for a change.

His affection for Harry is just unprecedented enough for it to be fascinating; Draco never thought he'd fall for him, not in a lifetime and a half. Not after spending years upon years hating him. But, apart from being easy on the eyes, Harry's everything Draco could ever want. 

It's strange, different, but Draco's different now too. Sure, he's still stubborn, snarky, somewhat arrogant without meaning to be; but he's changed. He's not as prejudiced anymore, more open to new things and people. Not so blinded by his father, too.

In his other life, he'd have gladly died thinking Harry to be a pompous arsehole. But now, he can't sit next to the boy for five minutes without wanting to snog him senseless.

And unfortunately for Draco, he just so happens to be sitting next to him.

"Right. Pair up, please. Remember, both the casting of the jinx and the shielding is to be done _nonverbally._ And I only want low level Jinxes. Nobody should be getting broken bones in my class, I have a feeling the Headmistress would _not_ appreciate it."

Professor Shrike, the newly _unjinxed_ Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, is a tall, muscular wizard. He's supposedly an ex auror; though that's just a rumour. The amount of intricate field work he knows, however, is probably good evidence for the claim. He's also American, which is strange. Well, it's not _that_ strange, to the other students at least. To Draco, who's never met an American, it's quite strange indeed.

He likes Shrike, though, strange as he is. He doesn't treat Draco like a ticking bomb; waiting for him to explode and ruin everything again. Draco tells himself it's because he's just a good person, and not because he wasn't there to personally witness any of Draco's crimes. 

"This is weird." Harry says, when they pick a place in the far corner of the classroom.

"What's weird?"

"This. Jinxing you." 

Draco rolls his eyes. "Don't tell me you haven't _dreamed_ of jinxing me since 1rst year." 

He's joking, but Harry frowns all the same. "I'm not in 1rst year anymore. So now it's just weird."

"Come on, Harry. Just do it. I can handle it, it's a simple enough anti-jinx."

"What about that guy who attacked you? You were hurt then, Draco."

He knows Harry's just worried, but he can't help but feel a little ashamed at the mention of the incident.

"That was ... different. He caught me off guard, it was a hex not a jinx, and I panicked. This is nothing like that. Now just hurry up with it, Harry, people are watching." 

He's not wrong; apparently seeing Harry Potter finally jinx former arch enemy Draco Malfoy in public draws quite the crowd.

Harry sighs, concentrating on him. 

Draco's too distracted again. God, Harry looks so attractive when he's focused. He has no right to be, the rest of his classmates look like they're about to throw up when they attempt non verbal spells. 

_Focus, Draco._

Non verbal spells are hard, because they rely solely on your ability to control your magic, drawing power directly from the source. See, wands are just a conduit for magic; the real power's contained within your core.

Draco, though he spent most of his 6th year on _other things,_ grew to have an acceptable understanding of non verbal spells. He supposes if he had more practice he'd be brilliant, (probably even able to protect himself from people like that Gryffindor) but as learning non verbal spells wasn't really a big priority in his life, what with the aftermath of the war and all, he's just average. 

Average works. It's demeaning, Draco hates being _like everyone else_ , but it works. So when Harry casts the spell, Draco's successfully able to block it. 

"I didn't hurt you."

"I told you." 

Harry searches him up and down with his eyes. "Are you sure you're alright?" 

"No, Harry, you've fatally wounded me. How will I ever recover?" 

"Shove off, Malfoy." Harry says, but there's a hint of a smile on his face.

The onlookers' eyes turn away, probably disappointed at the outcome.

Draco really doesn't share their opinion.

###

They're both technically missing a day today. But neither Draco nor Harry really feels guilty about it. 

Instead of meeting at the lake, Harry's invited Draco to sit with him at dinner, _again._

Draco's completely aware of the events of last time, they're still _painfully_ fresh in his memory, don't you worry. But it's different this time. Hermione's his kind-of friend, and Ron won't curse him on sight so that's a definite improvement.

Harry had gone to the hospital wing as soon as class had ended, because he's _perfect,_ leaving Draco with a couple of hours to fret over dinner before it actually comes. 

So when the time to leave finally rolls around, Draco's not sure he's even going. The dinner itself will be painfully awkward, and getting there itself is a whole other torturous task. He'll be walking, alone, through crowded hallways full of people who probably despise him.

Yet something, masochism, probably, propels him forward. 

Or maybe it's fate that does so, because Harry's waiting for him, fist raised like he's about to knock as soon as he opens the door. 

"Good, you're ready? Let's go." He turns to walk away, leaving Draco flabbergasted. 

He locks the door quickly; thank god the key's magical itself, otherwise fiddling with a locking spell would've cost him another ten minutes, and rushes after Harry.

"You never told me you were coming." Draco says pointedly.

"No." He agrees. 

Draco waits for an explanation, but it doesn't come, so he pushes.

"Why didn't you?"

"It wasn't- necessarily, um, planned." He says, looking confused himself. 

So you can imagine how confused Draco is.

"What do you mean?" 

Harry groans. "Okay look. You have to swear not to bother me about this."

Uh oh.

"I was thinking about DADA today."

Oh. That's not where Draco thought this was going. Well, he certainly didn't have a specific subject in mind, but thinking about school is a remarkably mundane topic. What's embarrassing about that?

"And what you said about what that Gryffindor kid did to you. That a hex like that is too strong to fight non verbally." 

Ah, now Draco's starting to understand.

"And I just ... It's really only about ...." He rambles, struggling to get the words out. Draco almost feels bad for him. 

"I was worried, alright? And I felt guilty about letting you walk there alone and I- I dunno." 

Draco doesn't laugh, nor does he tease him about it. He just stares, letting the information sink in.

_Harry was worried for him._

He thinks he may pass out, there and then, purely from the giddy excitement that engulfs him. 

Harry thinks about him, and gets concerned for him, and _walks him to dinner._

Draco's delusional mind is definitely reading too far into this. But never mind, no one's going to burst his bubble, not now, at least. 

"Does it pay you well?"

Draco's still got to keep up the act, though.

"Huh?"

"Babysitting me. Tell me you at least get paid well for it. Otherwise, what's the point?" 

Harry smirks at him. "There's perks. Your company for example." Harry's poking fun at Draco, but he can't help that it makes his heart beat faster.

"Ah, how could I forget?" 

He's sure people look at them strangely as they pass; sworn enemies, laughing and walking together as though they were old friends. And usually, Draco's hyper aware of that sort of thing, but not this time. This time, he's not thinking about what everyone else is thinking about; and it feels amazing. 

Harry's like his liquid luck, making everything, boring and tedious as it may be, into something to behold. 

"Harry, Draco." Hermione smiles at them, as they sit down next to each other. Draco can see Ron physically tense from beside her, but he doesn't say anything, just acknowledging them with a curt nod. That's as good as a hug considering it's a Weasley, so Draco takes it as a success. 

A blonde girl Draco recognises as Luna Lovegood sits on the other side of Hermione. She tilts her head when she sees him, as though she's trying to make sense of some impossible problem. Maybe she is; Luna's always been in a world of her own. 

Draco avoids her eyes, remembering what kind of memories she probably has associated with him. It's not everyday you're held captive in Malfoy Manor. There's no guarantee she'll set it aside as quickly as Hermione did. 

"It's strange, you know." She says, and immediately, everyone's eyes are on her. She has that quality about her; she's soft, gentle; but when she talks you want to listen. "Seeing you two together. It's strange." 

Draco goes silent, ears burning in embarrassment. He's starting to hate the attention, particularly when it's so presently drawn to him. I know, it's ironic. 

"Oh dear. I've said something wrong, haven't I?" She says, looking at Hermione, then Harry with wide eyes. 

"No, of course not." Hermione offers her an encouraging smile, but he sees the look she shoots him. 

She didn't really. If it had been anyone else, Draco would've thought the statement to be confrontational, but that's just Luna. She's unnervingly honest. 

"Oh Draco, I don't mean it in an awful way." She continues. "I do like making new friends." 

"Excuse me," Ron mutters, standing abruptly. 

"Ron-" Hermione starts. 

"I need more time." He replies quickly, before rushing out of the hall. 

Draco clenches his jaw. Of course, he didn't expect Ron to warm up to him instantly, but still, it feels like a step backwards. 

"It's me again, isn't it?"

"It's not your fault, Luna." Harry answers, sighing. "He's still getting ... _adjusted."_

"Well, i'm rather happy you're here, Draco. I thought you were quite terrible before, but I hear you're perfectly wonderful now. I do hope we become good friends." Luna says, nodding. 

Draco can't help but smile. She - much like Hermione - is really very nice. Blunt, but nice. Who would've thought, Draco's starting to get along with Harry's merry band. "As do I." 

"You know," Harry says to him lowly when Hermione engages Luna in a passionate conversation about Bavarian Erklings. "It's not your fault either." 

"While I appreciate the sentiment, Harry, it really is. But he needs time, and i'm alright with that. He doesn't owe me anything." 

"Mmm." 

"What?" Draco asks. 

"Nothing."

"You said something." 

"Nope. Just thinking." 

"You're horrible, you know." Draco says, glaring at a grinning Harry. 

"I was _thinking_ about how different you are. It's nice." 

Draco regrets asking; blushing and looking away. Merlin, this boy will be the death of him. How he's going to get through tonight with his heart still in his chest he doesn't know.

But it's sure fun trying. 

###

_"Harry~"_

_"Relax, yeah? I'll take care of you."_

_His faces is inches away from Draco's, hovering just above him on all fours._

_Strong hands cage him in against the bed, but Draco doesn't feel trapped._

_And when Harry finally dips his head to connect their lips,_

_the electricity between them is even more freeing._

He wakes again, drenched in sweat like last night. But it's worth it, because, even if just for a fleeting, fabricated moment, the world stilled, time froze, and Draco touched heaven for the first time in his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna's one of my favourite characters, I just HAD to add her in!  
> Songs : 
> 
> A Sky Full of Stars (COLDPLAY) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VPRjCeoBqrI  
> Nothing on You (B.O.B FEAT. BRUNO MARS) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQJIkbvUVPQ  
> Paradise (COLDPLAY) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1G4isv_Fylg  
> Magic Shop (BTS) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iKkCcfK0zls (LIVE) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLf6yZPJyvM (STUDIO)


	15. Three's a crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I didn't know what to say to her - I was caught in a love triangle with one dead side."  
> -John Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi (said extremely sheepishly)

Hermione and Harry were supposed to meet him at the library _hours_ ago. Alright, that may be stretching it, but they're certainly later than they were agreed to be. 

Maybe it's the unsettling looks the people around are throwing him that makes time seem to drag on and on. Draco feels like he's an animal in a circus, or an exhibit at a museum, on display for everyone to prod and point at. 

It's strange to Draco; how people he's never met seem to take great amusement in staring at him for too long and far too intimately. Draco doesn't know half the students who've hurled insults at him, yet they all seem to be quite familiar with him. 

However, ever the proud Slytherin, he doesn't look up at the whispers or the jeers, pretends to not notice them, but the relief he feels when he hears them all stop abruptly is evidence that they affect him more than he'd be willing to admit.

He glances up, fully prepared to throw all caution to the wind and smile broadly at Harry and Hermione. But the relief is dead in his gut before it even really becomes evident. 

Because Harry just _had_ to bring Ginny. 

"Hey, sorry we're late. Ginny decided to come, so we waited." Harry seems to realise how much of a mistake that was halfway through explaining. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Draco says, trying his best to make it sound not as clipped as it eventually comes out. 

"DADA first?" Hermione asks, as a way to cut through the tension. "I've got this essay due soon."

Ginny still doesn't acknowledge Draco, not even after they sit down at one of the tables. In fact, she doesn't even look in his general _direction_ , let alone _talk_ to him. 

"We do too. Professor Shrike's brave to take on two N.E.W.T level classes." Harry says, rummaging through his bag. Draco twitches impatiently. It's right there, the book, fallen onto his lap. 

If only Draco could stretch over and show him what's right under his nose. 

"Harry." Ginny says, smiling and waving the book in his face. 

Oh, how Draco envies her. Not for being able to kiss Harry, or sleep next to him, or rake her hands through his untameable mop of hair; but for being able to just _be there_ for him. Help him even in ways seemingly insignificant. 

"What would I do without you?" Harry murmurs under his breath, and they share an intimate smile, the rest of the world not privy to their closeness- Draco certainly shouldn't be either.

"I don't think Professor Shrike has a choice." He says, as a way to divert his attention from the gut-wrenching scene. "There's a large number of students taking Defence against the Dark Arts this year ; too many to fit into one class, i'd imagine."

It's the most popular subject this year, and despite the dwindling numbers, there's still been enough interest to prompt the need for two classes.

"I'm not surprised." Ginny answers, and it's the first thing she's said to someone who isn't Harry. "I mean..."

They all know what she means, despite her uneasiness with finishing the sentence. The remnants of the war continues to haunt most, leading to an increase in the demand for a protection based curriculum. People want to know they can be safe again.  
  
_Safe from me._  
  
Draco has to remind himself that, despite the somewhat pitiful character his family's name has adopted, their actions, _his_ _actions_ , were still a driving force behind this new defence hungry craze sweeping through Hogwarts. 

"Regardless of the circumstance." Hermione starts in a clipped voice, apparently just as desperate as Draco to move away from the topic. "He must be exhausted." 

"He must be." Draco mutters in agreement, not really focusing on her words.

He's preoccupied with the way Ginny's fingers intertwine with Harry's on her lap, how they brush over the top of his knuckles, how he squeezes her hand back ever so often to show his appreciation.

Draco's aware he's staring far too intently, but it's like he's entranced.

Well, not entranced. It's not magical nor captivating in any pleasant way. He's watching a car crash unfold, not admiring a beautiful sunset.

"There's a book I need. Excuse me." Draco says when it gets too painful, escaping before his heart is damaged beyond repair. 

He can feel the trio's eyes on him as he practically flees the table, darting into Merlin-knows what aisle.

He's acutely aware that he has to return with a book vaguely related to their study focus, otherwise their suspicions will only worsen, so he idly runs his fingers over the spines of the neatly stacked books, trying but ultimately failing at paying much attention to the actual content, or even the titles for that matter.

If only there were a book amongst these millions to teach him how to stop feeling the way he does towards Harry; oh, how he'd give that book his full and undivided attention.

"Hey." 

Draco closes his eyes, so as to pretend that the turmoil ransacking his mind _isn't_ happening, and to hence convince both himself _and_ Harry of the fact.

"Hi."

"I didn't know you were taking Care of Magical Creatures." Harry says, close enough behind him that Draco doesn't dare move, at risk of accidentally brushing him.

"I wouldn't _dare._ " Draco likes to consider himself a grand deal lessproud than he was before, but he's still proud enough not to be caught _dead_ studying _Care of Magical Creatures._

"Then you're probably in the wrong section."

Ah.

"It would seem so." Draco murmurs, his embarrassment only aiding his reluctance to turn around and face Harry. Even if he did, he doubts it would do much good in the way of his nerves.

His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, words slow to form. The smell of Harry's cologne; musky and oaky and absolutely _divine;_ makes him weak at the knees and weak at the heart, too. Harry's effectively stunted Draco both cognitively and physically. 

"You're upset. With me?" Harry asks, and Draco's sure that if he could see him he'd have that concerned look of his all over his face. It would probably break Draco's attempt at a stoic resolve.

"I'm not upset, Harry." 

Harry laughs. "I thought I already told you you're a terrible lier."

"I'm not lying!"

"Okay, well. You can either tell me or we can stand here forever."

Draco half believes the threat, but he can't exactly explain to him that his _feelings for him_ are making him jealous of Ginny.

"It's nothing." Draco says, borderline pleading with Harry to drop it.

"I know it's not nothing, Draco." 

Draco's silence doesn't do much to help prove otherwise.

"Is it because I brought Ginny here?" Harry asks finally, sighing.

Draco freezes immediately, irrationally worried that somehow he'd managed to bore a hole in his mind with all his racing thoughts, letting Harry see right through him. But Harry continues, taking Draco's visible discomfort to mean something it doesn't.

"It is, isn't it? I know I kind of sprung it on you, but I thought it would be good, you know? I really don't think she meant anything by what she said, if that's what you're upset about." He breathes out heavily, and Draco can feel his cool breath on the back of his neck, making him shiver. "I dunno what I was trying to do ... I just - maybe meeting like this ... it'll help things between you two." 

Harry. Foolish, righteous, unbelievably considerate Harry. He genuinely thought he'd be helping Draco by bringing Ginny; it's moronic, but kind in it's own misguided way. 

"Oh." Draco says, because he has to reply, yet he can't think of a single thing to say. He's still processing _why_ Harry brought her here, and you'll have forgive his mind for running a bit behind schedule; he _is_ within 10 feet of Harry after all. 

"Dra _-co"._ Harry sings his name rather than says it, a jaunty, teasing tone. "There's no way _you_ have nothing to say. Go on, yell at me. Tell me how stupid you think i've been." 

Draco snorts out a short laugh. "Your stupidity is immeasurable by words." 

He can _feel_ Harry's triumphant grin at getting a reaction from him. "I'm sure you can come up with something." He jokes, and Draco's just about to do just that, when he feels a warm hand come to rest on his shoulder, and it promptly knocks any coherence he'd possessed out the window.

His breath hitches when Harry's wandering hand moves to the back of his neck, and he hopes against hope that Harry doesn't notice and withdraw from him. 

"Hey, look at me." The hand pulls, applying the smallest amount of pressure, and Draco doesn't have the mental nor physical strength to be disobedient. 

That doesn't mean he's fine with it, because as soon as he meets Harry's eyes, he's swallowed whole by the allure of them, and he's soon floating somewhere north of heaven, relishing in the attentive stare Harry's giving him. His hand falls from Draco's neck, but he doesn't notice, which is testament to how taken he is, how far from himself he feels. 

"What?" Draco's lips move minutely, and his voice comes out just as hesitant as he expects. He's too close to Harry's eyes - he can see his own tentative expression in them. 

"I'm sorry for surprising you like that. I really am, Draco. But I asked her to try, so i'm asking you to, aswell." 

Turning his head away to break eye contact sobers him up well enough for him to nod. "Alright. I'll try." 

He wonders if Harry asked Ginny like this too; hands brushing skin, barely an inch of space between them, voices in low whispers that come with short breaths and fast heart rates. 

"Thank you." His hand his back then, clasping his shoulder. "Really Draco. This is a good thing." 

Up, upwards to his neck again, calloused fingers rubbing at the top of his spine, palm resting in the hollow of his collarbone. 

Draco scarcely breathes, at risk of Harry feeling the shuddering gasps. He needn't worry - the pulse beating away wildly under Harry's palm is a dead giveaway of his anticipation. 

It's the strangest feeling he's ever had - like he's here, but not really, like he's actually far away in some Neverland, floating in a sea of carefree calm. He very nearly shuts his eyes, but even in his state, he knows how much that would reveal.

"We should get back." Harry says very suddenly, and as he moves away, Draco's serenity moves with him, bringing him crashing into reality again. 

He says it with such haste that Draco's worried something's wrong. Maybe something is - Harry looks as though he's been jolted rather viciously and harshly from a dream, like he's woken up to something very unpleasant. 

It's the same look he wears, Draco realises abruptly. 

"Here. Picked this up so you had an alibi." He's smiling easily again when he hands Draco the textbook, but something's hidden behind his grin, behind his eyes. 

But if he wants to play pretend, Draco's willing to do his part. "What if I really had been looking for a book, Harry?" 

"But you're not." 

"Say I was."

"But you weren't." 

"Prat." 

But even as they fall into a childish rhythm, Draco can't help but think about that look on Harry's face. 

It's impossible, utterly ridiculous, but he's daring to dream.

_Could Harry like him back?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for all the reads and comments and kudos as usual. I just wanted to check in and apologise for the long long long delay. I've no excuse for how long I waited to upload this. Truth be told, I had started to wonder if this did was worth finishing, my passion had completely dwindled to nothing. But I'm doing better now, and I hope to keep writing and continue with my plan of making this story into a 3 part series. Oop, announcement alert, I'm making this into a three part series!


	16. Kiss me, please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cause it's too cold  
> For you here and now  
> So let me hold  
> Both your hands in the holes of my sweater"  
> \- Sweater Weather, The Neighbourhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back 😊

Autumn fades away, and Winter sets it's sights on Hogwarts far sooner than Draco realises. The first three months of school had gone by in somewhat of a hazy blur; and while another more weary student may deem this fortunate, Draco regrets not grasping tighter to the new memories he'd accumulated. 

He does remember some things, he supposes- feelings, more than places or people.

_Or maybe feelings for places and people._

It's not that it's been a dull term- far from it. Draco's experienced more in the ways of friendship and care in the past few months than he has in the entirety of his eighteen years of existence. No, it's not boredom. 

It's just that, for once, things seem to be progressing exactly the way Draco hoped them to. Hermione's spent countless nights with him, studying from dusk till dawn, until their tired eyes sting too much to read another word. Luna's walked him to class when she's afraid to leave him to brave the corridors alone, babbling on about this and that to calm private nerves he'd never dare voice to her. Even Ginny's shared a rare smile with him on occasion, when he'd accidentally let a snarky but superficial dig at Harry fall past his lips. 

It's ordinary, unremarkable; but Draco's grown to admire the charm of commonplace. 

But then, of course, there's _Harry_. 

Draco doesn't think anyone in the whole _world_ could describe what he feels for Harry as 'unremarkable'. 

What reasonable explanation is there to justify his hammering heart, his fickle head, his complete willingness to damn everything and just _jump_ if Harry asked him to? He's a man possessed; Harry's got him wound as tight as a coil round his little finger, and Draco's not letting go anytime soon. 

Even if he wanted to, he has a feeling Harry wouldn't let him. His fleeting touches and gestures of closeness have become far less fleeting and _far_ more close. Now whenever Harry sets his hands on Draco's shoulders or neck or back; Draco believes he's loudly proclaiming something he'd _never_ say aloud. 

_You're mine._

It's true. Though it could just be _all in Draco's head_ ; he's well and truly Harry's, try as he may to fight it. 

It's hell; sleepless nights picturing Harry's hands brushing his skin then _her's,_ awful nightmares in which his nasty relationship with rejection rears it's despicable head. 

And it's paradise; the smile Harry has saved just for him, the rough but gentle fingers kneading into his shoulders, the secret conversations they have, glimmering lake and lonely moon the only witnesses. 

Harry's the only thing not going to Draco's plan; in large part due to the fact that Draco doesn't _have_ a plan for Harry. He doesn't know what he wants. It hurts, to see him with somebody else, but it would hurt more to be in a relationship with him, to have to drag him down like that. Draco's not stupid; he knows how they'd have to sneak around, shy away from cameras like they're doing something wrong. The articles that were released when the press caught wind of their _friendship_ _alone_ was enough to burden Draco, and even strain Harry and Ginny's relationship temporarily. 

He'll hurt if only it meant Harry wouldn't. 

But really then, he can't blame Harry for playing the middle, not when he's doing the same damn thing. 

###

The snow, though pretty, is incredibly annoying, Draco's decided. He sits, huddled up against their tree in his thick sweater and a miserable frown. 

Somewhere along the way, the tree had become their tree, they'd staked a claim upon it. Regardless of how old and ancient the tree may be; it's the thing they turned to to symbolise their new friendship. 

"Come on, Malfoy. Where's your Christmas spirit?" 

Draco wants to _scream._ All he's heard about for the last week is _Christmas_. He's probably going to hear about it for the foreseeable future too, what with Christmas being in ten days. 

Of course, he has Harry to thank for that. Hermione, who too was rather excited about the upcoming Yuletide celebrations, toned it down a bit upon seeing Draco's dark demeanour. Harry, on the other hand, takes some inane pleasure in seeing Draco irritated. 

"I'll hex you if you say one more word-" 

"You and what wand?" Harry quirks an eyebrow from where he stands a few meters away. 

Draco really wishes the fire that burns through his whole body at Harry's smirk could warm him up externally too. "I'll borrow one. I think discipline counts as educational purposes." 

Harry laughs, and Draco rests his face against his pulled up knees, only partly because it's cold. 

The crunching of Harry's winter boots padding across the snow makes him immediately raise his eyes upwards, then downwards when he squats in front of him. 

He slowly draws his face away, letting the cold air sting his cheeks again. "What?" He asks, a cloud appearing in the air as his breath leaves his mouth in short, stunted patterns. His eyes dart over Harry's face; cheeks red from where the wind hit him too. He's gorgeous, Draco already knew that. But when he looks at him with _those_ eyes, all that attention and care and concern ... it's enough to melt Draco all over again. 

"Something's wrong with you." 

"I'm _cold."_

"Merlin, Draco, you big baby." Harry rolls his eyes, and before Draco knows it, a heavy coat is being dropped into his lap. 

"Harry- I can't-" 

"Just shut up and put it on, yeah?" 

Draco's come to realise how lovingly the words 'shut up' can be said in the time he's spent with Harry. How somebody can say it with a smile, or not a scowl. How it can send sparks of warmth through him.

He shrugs it on, but quickly rethinks it, because it smells so much like _Harry_. Like his cheap muggle cologne he insists on wearing (Draco'll never admit to how delicious it smells) and his earthy shampoo that he either uses too much of, or is far too strong (Draco doesn't really mind). 

It's warm too, regrettably, so he can't bring himself to think rationally and give it back. "Thank you." He says, when he realises he's been cozying up into the coat without a word for far too long. 

He makes a noise of acknowledgement, shifting to the side to settle down next to Draco. 

"Now you owe me. What's wrong?" 

Draco snorts; he can't help it. Advantageous chivalry- it's such a _Harry_ thing to do.

Harry nudges him with his shoulder. "Tell me. Or i'll toss you into the lake." 

Forget chivalry. Draco turns to him with knowing narrowed eyes. "You wouldn't."

"You're right. But i'll still get it out of you eventually." 

Draco doesn't care enough to conceal something so conspicuous from Harry, so he relents. "It's this whole ... Christmas celebration. Forgive me for being sick of people talking about how they'll spend it with their _families."_ It's every ounce bitter as Draco wanted it to be. He clenches his jaw and digs his nails into the soft fabric of Harry's coat, repressed spite threatening to come free. 

"Oh." Harry begins. He doesn't seem surprised- Draco supposes he connected the dots. "Can't you visit your mother?" 

Draco shakes his head. "The Aurors will most certainly detain me immediately if I attempt to enter the manor. And mother's on house arrest, of course, so we can't meet anywhere else, either." It's freshly painful, talking about it. And that's how he realises he hasn't talked about it- not to Harry, not to anyone. Nobody knows his living situation. And he's suddenly not in the mood to discuss it. 

Luckily, though Draco can see a million questions zapping around in Harry's head, he doesn't ask. 

"I'm sorry, Draco. It's unfair." 

"No." Draco shakes his head. "It's completely fair." 

Harry's not said anything, but Draco can hear the disagreement in his silence. 

"Well," He clears his throat, standing up abruptly. "You were right. The lake's way too cold for this." 

Draco smiles. Harry's likely only saying it to make him feel better, but it's working. "I was what? I misheard that."

Harry grabs his hand suddenly, pulling him up jerkily. "Harry!" Draco protests with strong disdain at being manhandled. 

"You were right, I was wrong. Okay?" His hand clutches the side of Draco's neck, as he leans in close to emphatically reiterate the points. 

Draco can't remember what those points were again. "I-" He's stuttering nonsense, but he has to say something because Harry's right there in front of him and he's staring and oh Merlin, Draco can't stop thinking about kissing him senseless. "Your coat." He says quickly. "It's cold. You need it." 

Harry, much like Draco, seems to very barely hear the words. "Keep it a while. It looks good." 

_It looks good. You look good. I think you look good._

Draco's ears must be deceiving him. His eyes too, as he could have sworn he saw Harry's eyes flick down to land on his lips. 

But then, like in the library, Harry snaps out of the trance, and he backs away. "Let's go. It's freezing." 

"Please." 

Draco agrees almost instantly but he's not sure that that's what he really wants. He can't think of anything he wants to say, either. But the instinctual reaction within him surges forward, consuming his mind, the words spinning around his thoughts and making him dizzy. 

_Don't go. Stay and kiss me until we're both warm again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay,okay,okay. Few things first off before people start commenting about it, I know this is long but please read it if you're confused. Hear me out guys! 
> 
> \- So i've played pretty fast and loose with the timeline, and this chapter has a pretty big jump. So, this day takes place ten days before Christmas, so the 15th. I couldn't find when they all leave for Christmas in the books, so I decided to make it the 22nd.  
> \- Regarding three months passing - terms start 1rst September. So realistically, a little over three months has passed  
> \- I'm aware that some chapters happen the day or night after the previous, but there are week jumps elsewhere. So between chapter 15 and this chapter, about two to three weeks has passed. It would be very boring and tedious to go through everyday, and plus that would make the story move toooo quickly. 
> 
> Okay, all done! Hope that clarified some stuff - I didn't want anyone to get too confused and all that. Thank you for listening to me lecture haha <3 Tysm readers and commenters and everyone who's supported me!! 
> 
> Songs <3 : 
> 
> Sweater Weather (THE NBHD) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GCdwKhTtNNw
> 
> Adore you (HARRY STYLES) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iquhBgM-Qv0


	17. Moon-kissed skin and sunshine eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We had found the stars you and I. And this is given once only."  
> \- André Aciman, Call Me by Your Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dont hate me, here have a long chapter to make up for my.leave of absence, I'm sorrryyyyy!

He still hasn't given the coat back. It's been two days, and yet the offending item of clothing still hangs in his closet, mocking him to no end. 

Harry hasn't said anything about it, either. It's almost like he doesn't _want_ it back. Which, if true, would make it a hand me down, and Draco's _not_ prepared to sink that low quite yet. He has his own coats, thank you very much. 

Or, it could be a gift. A strange, second hand, oddly personal gift. Though really, if he was to give Draco something, he'd hope Harry would try harder than _this._

He sighs heavily and sinks down onto his bed, glowering at his closet like it's to blame. It's no use. No matter how much he talks the coat down, he can't seem to bring himself to return it. He's not even fooling himself anymore; he loves the stupid thing.

Loves how it swallows him up in the excess fabric, loves how it's warm in ways not clear to anyone else but him, loves how it's almost like Harry's _right there with him_. 

Almost like he's whispering soft comfort in his ears, like his arms are wrapping possessively around his chest and waist, like his lips replace his hands and drag gently down his neck ...

Draco stands with sudden purpose, wrenching the coat off the hanger. Enough is enough. 

The walk from his room to Harry's isn't too far; and most of the 8th years are in classes at this time anyway. Draco's DADA class had been cancelled- something about some fifth years accidentally setting a Boggart loose. So he arrives outside Harry's door with little trouble. However, getting into Harry's room may be another task entirely. 

"Ginny, it's not what I want. Why can't you see that?" 

"It's what you should want! Harry, this is a huge opportunity for you! I can't believe you're brushing it off!"

"It's a huge opportunity for _you._ Not me." 

Draco takes a step away from the door. This is awful, he's eavesdropping on their private conversation like some sort of obsessive stalker. But he can't help but overhear. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"I-" 

Draco doesn't consider himself a saint, but the growing feeling of guilt pooling in his stomach makes him start to walk away from the door quickly, before he's tempted to listen in to the whole conversation, and do something he'd really feel ashamed about. 

The coat will have to wait. 

Once safely back in his room, Draco takes a moment to process what he heard. He knew Ginny and Harry had been fighting- Harry'd mentioned it _very_ briefly once or twice, and there's been days where they've spent hours and hours acting like strangers. But from what he heard, it's a lot worse that he's letting on. 

It's sad, really. He wants Harry's happiness, even if it means he's not the one to give it to him, and whatever it is that's going on with them ... it can't be making either of them happy. The speed at which they switch from loving to distant is starting to give Draco some serious whiplash. 

He hates that Harry's not the only one he feels sorry for, too. Ginny's an amazing, albeit cautious, person, and as much as Draco detests her relationship with Harry, he simply cannot detest her. Especially not after she's been so tolerant with him. 

The shame, falsely thought to be avoided, digs it's filthy claws into him all of a sudden. He's sitting here, fantasising and wishing and hoping ... all for somebody else's boyfriend. What does that make him? A home wrecker? 

Draco may be Harry's but Harry is _not_ Draco's.

He's Ginny's, and as dysfunctional as their relationship is, that's how it should remain. 

###

Ginny and Harry don't talk, don't sit next to each other, barely even glance at each other all through the next day. It's unsettling, really; how stressed and agitated Harry is. Draco wouldn't know what Ginny's feeling, he hasn't seen her at all. But just because Harry's still sitting with his friends, it doesn't mean he's avoiding his problems any less. Hermione had asked about Ginny's absence, but she was only met with a half hearted shrug from Harry, and a nudge from Ron to bite her tongue. 

Draco doesn't dare say anything. He's not supposed to know anyway, strictly speaking. It bothers him that Harry hasn't confided in him about it yet, of course it does, but he keeps reminding himself to relax. Harry will tell him when Harry wants to tell him, and that's that. 

But it still keeps him lying awake hours after he should have been asleep, well past midnight. He groans, cursing his dependance on the stupid boy as he changes positions again, though all his attempts to get some rest have been in vain.

He hadn't realised, but the closer they grew, the more and more Draco seemed to rely on Harry. Rely on his touch, his kind eyes, his soft words. 

A whole day of Harry ignoring him; even if he's not at fault, is painful. Harry needs space, and he needs to work through some things by himself, Draco knows that. He just wishes, somewhat selfishly, that it wasn't the case. 

Draco's not-sleep is disturbed by a rough banging on the door. He almost writes it off as the wind, until his name is being whispered harshly at him past the wood. "Draco. Wake up."

Draco's heart seizes up, shock and confusing grabbing him and making him lie dead still. 

"Draco! It's Harry." That snaps him into action. He scrambles out of bed and tugs his trousers on, throwing a sweater over his night shirt. 

His hand is shaking, and his eyes are still adjusting to the light when he tugs open the door. 

Harry's dressed in muggle clothing again, blue jeans and a worn out moon-grey hoodie. His appearance further befuddles Draco. "Harry ... what are you doing? It's the middle of the night and-" 

"Come with me." Harry says, interrupting. His eyes are bright and open, and shamelessly cajoling him into agreeing. "Please. I'm sorry for today ... just let me make it up to you." 

Draco stands there, dumbstruck, because what the hell does Harry think he's doing. They've got class tomorrow, and he's here, asking Draco to drop everything and go with him anywhere. 

And the worst part is, Draco wants so badly to say yes. "Harry I _can't."_

His eyes don't falter. Maybe he knows he's really won him over already. "Don't you trust me?" 

And just like that, Draco doesn't need to answer. "Let me get my coat." 

###

"Harry- where are we going!" Draco asks quietly as they rush through the corridors, guided by Harry's wand-light. He doesn't get anything from Harry but a wry smile, and a whispered " _wait and see."_

Draco's just about at his wit's end when Harry suddenly pulls him into the open courtyard, and they finally come to a stop. 

"We're here."

"Well ...?" Draco huffs, unimpressed. It's late, and he's grumpy, and regardless of how much he likes Harry, he will jinx the boy if he's dragged him out here just to sit in the _courtyard_. 

"Wait a sec." He says, holding out his hands like he's coaxing a dog to stay put. 

Draco folds his arms over his chest, wrapping his-no, Harry's- coat tighter around himself, as he watches Harry disappear behind one of the pillars. He returns a moment later, and Draco's eyes widen at what he'd gone to retrieve. 

"Your broomstick ..." Draco murmurs, transfixed. He remembers in a sudden jumble of memories just how talented Harry was at flying- he was a natural, and it drove Draco up the wall, quite frankly, as he had to practice and practice for days on end to even _match_ his skill. 

"I told you that i'd been playing Quidditch again ... more and more recently, actually. I'm not joining the team or anything, nothing competitive-" Draco's glad for that. He hasn't been to a single Quidditch match; he doesn't think he could stomach it ever again, and if Harry played, he's not sure Hermione would give in so easily about making him go. "I just missed flying. Don't you?" 

Draco nods. He can understand missing it. But unfortunately for him, he hasn't had the courage to step onto a broom after what happened in the Room of Requirement. Every time he comes close, he's too cowardly to follow through, fearful of the flames just licking his robes, the drop just inches below the broom, his death mere seconds away ...

So when Harry's next sentence is _do you want to fly with me ,_ Draco's mind helpfully stumbles over itself in a rush to come up with a reasonable excuse as to why he can't possibly do that. He supposes he takes a little too long to answer, because suddenly, Harry's in his head again. 

"I didn't know if you had been on a broom since ... erm ... "

The image, fresh and visceral shoots into Draco's mind. But he steels his nerves, and tries to push past the anxiety, the terror, and remember the relief, the _safety_ Harry had offered him. If it was enough then, it's enough now. 

"Since you saved me." Draco says, his voice much clearer and stable than he thought it would be. He sets his eyes on the broom. If there's anybody who could help him brave this fear, it would be Harry. And this year, this year was supposed to be all about leaving his past behind as much as he could. This is it, then. This is him leaving awful memories behind.

Of course, it's not always so easy, but this, flying a broom, this is a damn good start, and even if Draco's not able to completely detach himself from his experiences, he'll be content with what he's about to agree to. "And yes. Let's go."

The grin that lights up Harry's face makes it seem as though _he's_ the one about to conquer a fear, but this is clearly not the case, demonstrated rather evidently with the way he enthusiastically mounts the broom, all the confidence Draco doesn't have. 

It's strange, though; as soon as his trembling arms are wrapped tightly around Harry's waist, he seems to calm his galloping heart down quite a bit. Usually, it's the inverse; being around Harry, and this close too, well, he should be even more of a nervous wreck. But he just feels strangely _secure._ As though with his arms around Harry, nothing could go wrong. 

He changes his mind when the broom shoots up into the night after a quick warning from Harry. Immediately his heart is in his throat, eyes clammed shut so tight he can see stars, and arms tangled around Harry's waist in a vice-like grip. He's back there again, and the cool night air does nothing to dull the heat of the flames reaching, and reaching, and ...

"Are you alright?"

Harry's voice cuts through, making him focus and ground himself. He notices with a start that they're cruising quite far from the courtyard- and high up too. He hadn't realised how quick they travelled, it seemed like decades to him.

Harry doesn't ask again when Draco doesn't answer, just keeps a firm handle on the broom. Draco appreciates that, it gives him time to breathe- in, and out, and to open his eyes a little. 

There's no fire, no danger, just miles and miles of black night, framed by midnight blue tainted clouds and twinkling fairy lights spotted around the crescent- shaped moon. And there's Harry too- right in front of him, his hoodie soft beneath his clenching fingers. 

It's perfect. It's everything Draco loved about flying, plus a little something more. 

"I'm alright." He says quietly, but loud enough so that Harry can hear him over the wind. Anxiety gives way for exhilaration, and the warm excitement defends him from the chill of the night. "I'm ... this is amazing." He adds after a few moments, and Harry twists around to smile at him. 

"Just wait. You alright with a drop?"

"Always." 

And at his word, they're plummeting down towards the ground. No, not the ground - the lake! Harry's flown them out to the lake, and he pulls so close to the water that Draco can reach out his hand to ripple their reflections; he does, one arm still wrapped possessively around Harry and that comforting feeling of safety. 

The moon's still visible behind the curtains of misty clouds, it's shrouded light falling onto the two boys, and illuminating them to none but themselves. They've got a spotlight, but there's no act to put on, no audience to please. 

It's just them. This epiphany strikes Draco and ignites something in him he didn't think possible. Carefree, blissful joy. Raw and overpowering and untameable and beautiful. It makes Draco throw his head back, bright grey eyes capturing a gleaming grey moon, and laugh. 

###

"I never did say thank you." Draco muses to Harry. "Thank you."

They'd dismounted minutes ago, a comfortable silence punctuated by the gentle rustle of the trees settling over them. Harry had planned all of it, all the way down to how they'd get off at their spot by the lake, seeing as though they haven't visited in a while. 

Draco wishes he could yell at Harry that if the temperature was too cold in the afternoon, it surely would be unbearable at night, but he can't. It would be downright callous to criticise him for everything he's done tonight. And anyway, it would have been a lie- right now, Draco doesn't care about the cold. 

Harry, to his credit, had conjured a fire, lighting a pile of dry sticks in front of _their_ tree they sit against. It's not nearly enough, but it's enough. For Draco, if Harry's there with him, it's always enough, even if he does get hypothermia and ends up in the hospital wing, as long as Harry's there to visit him, it's _enough._

"I should be thanking you, Malfoy." Harry snorts, but his face is dead serious when he looks at Draco. "I know everyone's sick of how I act when Ginny and I ... disagree." 

Draco shakes his head. "I really wish you didn't lie to me, Harry. It's more than disagreements, i'm not dim, I know that. And honestly, your friends are well aware too."

Harry makes an exasperated sound from somewhere deep within his chest and his soul, too.

"It's not her fault. We're just ... different. I see that now." 

Draco feels a stab of hurt at that. "Different isn't awful." He says indignantly, and Harry seems to realise he's said something wrong.

"Draco, you know I didn't mean that. I just think me and Ginny, we're _too_ different. We want different things."

Draco thinks about that.

It's her fault, and his fault, and nobody's fault at all.

Ginny blames Harry for not being what she needs, and Harry blames her for a similar reason, even if he vehemently assures against it.

Neither of them and up with what they deserve. Happiness.

Draco turns to say that to Harry, but his words shrivel and melt away on his tongue when he notices how close Harry's face is to his. They stay like that, for a second, cold air passing between them, the slightest breath sounding like a gust of wind.

"And what exactly do you want?" Draco murmurs, the private thought somehow finding its way onto his lips.

"The moon." He says, smiling like he knows a secret Draco doesn't. 

Draco's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What _are_ you on about Harry-" 

But he doesn't get to finish the sentence, because his world twists and turns and falls away in front of his eyes, the stars tumble over each other in a hasty dash to fall out of the sky and into his lap, the waves change their direction and crash against the sand with all the ferocity of a lioness. 

And _Harry Potter's kissing him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *guilty noises ensue*  
> Hey, at least I finally made them kiss right? Please don't be mad, I'm swamped with exam revision ( not a good enough excuse I know, lead me to the gallows for that is what I deserve). Maybe their first real romancey romance is consolation?  
> Also just wanted to make absouloutely clear that this is FICTIONAL. No, I don't believe hugging and loving someone is going to fix any issues you're struggling with. Please see someone to get help, a relationship can support but not clear such issues. H and D's relationship is idealised and embellished to make it cutsey. It's an unfair standard and shouldn't be emulated in certain aspects.


	18. I love you, you git!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”
> 
> -Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe :)  
> Probably my favourite chapter yet.

His lips are soft and meld perfectly together with Draco's, almost like they were made to be his, made to be pressed against him so gently but so confidently. It's a slow kiss, Harry's cautious but assured- he wants this, surely.

But the thought starts to fester. Does he want this? Or does he only believe he wants this?

"Wait, Harry."

Draco pulls away, pressing fingers to his swollen lips. They feel the same, but different now, almost like they're a part of Harry. That he's a part of Harry. The idea of that sends such a spike of pleasure rushing within him that he almost forgets why he stopped Harry at all.

"Did I do something wrong?" Harry asks softly, the hesitation in his voice clear. It's sweet, Draco's heart thumps at the way he cares so _bloody_ much. It was annoyingly righteous before, but now, Draco adores it.

"Harry you ... you're perfect." 

Harry's lopsided grin returns to his face, and he grabs Draco's arm to pull him closer in again, but Draco resists.

"What's wrong?"

Draco studies the ground. It's dumb, absolutely idiotic, but the little discomfort Draco had felt needs to be quelled before anything else can happen. "Harry I ... I'm not second choice. I'm not someone you can kiss because you can't kiss her. I can't be that for you."

Harry doesn't reply for a little too long, not meeting Draco's eyeline.

"Draco ..." Harry says, frowning, and his lack of eloquence makes a stone drop into Draco's stomach.

" _Am I_ just her replacement?" Draco whispers so quietly, so incredulously; he half hopes Harry doesn't answer.

"Draco, you know you're not." 

"No, I don't. Just say it Harry." Draco's pushing, far too hard, and he knows he has a bad track record of missing out on the moon because he wants the stars, but he can't help it. He's got to know. 

But Harry doesn't talk, and when Draco looks over, it's almost like he's been frozen solid. He just stares, out into the sky, fists clenching and unclenching periodically. 

He's got his answer, really. " Why can't you say it?" He repeats, and he feels desperately like he's trying to hold onto a hope rapidly fading in the blue swirl of a storm brewing within him.

"I'm sorry." Harry mumbles, and he doesn't say anything else.

Draco stands, because he needs to leave before Harry sees the sobs that are bound to come sooner than later. And this time when Harry calls out his name from behind him, he doesn't turn.

###

Hermione doesn't fancy herself a genius. People say she is, and she knows she's smart, of course she does, but she's never, and will never, call herself a genius. 

But it doesn't take a genius, or even someone intelligent really, to see that there's something going on between Harry and Draco. 

Hermione knows it, Luna knows it, and she thinks, deep, deep down, Ron and Ginny know it too.

She'd known since that first day at the library, when Draco couldn't keep his eyes off Harry and Ginny, and when they came back together, Harry wearing a self satisfied smirk.

She'd known when Harry had cupped the side of Draco's neck tenderly, when Draco had lost his train of thought and seized up, anticipation settling over his cheeks and coloring them red.

And now, she knows for sure as she sees Harry walking back towards the castle from her bedroom window. She hurries out of her room to confront him before he can disappear into his misery and his own private thoughts.

"Harry." She says, meeting him in the common room. 

He doesn't even react, just stills, head hung as low as it was when he entered. His eyes seem to stretch on into infinity, like he knows all, but nothing at the same time. 

"Harry. Where have you been?" She asks tentatively, stepping closer carefully, as though fast movements would make him startle and flee like a wild animal. 

All knowing eyes meet her's. "I kissed him." He whispers. 

It feels like a stone in her stomach. "Draco?" She asks, though it's futile to do so. She knows he's talking about Draco, it couldn't be anyone else, even if he'd left out the gender. 

Harry nods ever so slightly, mechanically, unthinkingly. Hermione's seen Harry drunk before, but this is somehow worse, despite him not having a drop of alcohol in his system. "Draco. I kissed Draco." 

The words seem more real coming from Harry's mouth and not her head, and she almost childishly begs Harry to take them back. 

Ginny's supposed to be what Draco is to him. Hermione can't in good conscience slap Harry on the back and congratulate him, not when it would shatter Ginny. He's always impulsive when it comes to emotion, but this is different. This is the most awful thing he could have done. 

"How could you? Ginny would-" 

"There's no more Ginny, Hermione!" He snaps, coming back to life in front of her eyes. The ridgid form leaves his body and places itself in his mouth, drawing it into a tight, angry line. "We're over. We've been over for months now, can't you see?" 

She does see, but she shouldn't. She shouldn't look. "Ginny loves you, and you love her. It can't be over." 

"I don't love her. And she doesn't love me." Harry says, frustrated.

"What, then? You can't possibly love Draco."

Harry's rigid again, simultaneously firm and slouched, muscles worn and tired. Hermione's eyes widen in recognition. 

"You don't know him, Harry! Not well enough! You know what he's done, what he's like!" 

"You were happy to forgive him before. What's changed now?"

"You're kissing him now! You're breaking Ginny's heart now." She's boderline hysterical, and they're both in each other's faces, so close they can see the nothing in each other's eyes. Neither can think of something to say, neither can think of the answer or the question or the right thing to do. 

So Hermione breaks the eye contact before anything comes to light in Harry's eyes. 

"It's hurting both of us to be together." He mutters. 

Hermione's anger is quelled a little. She knows this, she's seen firsthand how awful Ginny feels in the relationship, and how equally awful Harry feels. 

She's got to have the answer for Harry, even if it's an answer she wishes she didn't have to give. She doesn't speak it for a long time, but the silence gets too much for her to bear. She really shouldn't bite her tongue any longer. 

"Harry, listen." She starts, watching the flames flicker in the fireplace to distract herself. "I know you love him too. I've seen it, and I didn't want to believe it, but I know. I love Ginny- I love Ginny more than anything and quite frankly, I love Ginny a great deal more than Draco." 

"Hermione-"

"Let me finish. But I didn't mean what I said, Harry. He's changed, for the better. And i'm in no place to deny you the happiness you feel when you're beside him. He makes you smile, Harry, and I don't think you understand how rare that is. To find someone who makes you smile like that. I can't say I'm okay with the idea of seeing you together, but give it time. Give me time." 

She's not really only talking about herself. _Give Ginny time. Give them all time._

She'd given him her blessing, and that message was loud and clear. 

Harry's eyes turn to her, and he smiles softly.

"Alright, then." 

"Alright." 

###

Draco doesn't come to class the next day. He doesn't move from his bed for pretty much the whole morning, alternating between crying his weight in tears, and falling into periods of fitful sleep. 

Harry hurt him; and it's one of the worst pains Draco's ever experienced. He hurt him and he didn't even mean to.

Merlin, how could Draco have been so _stupid._

Harry kisses him, out of the blue, right after lamenting about his problems with Ginny, and Draco expects a different answer to the one he got?

Harry was vulnerable and frustrated and tired, and Draco took advantage of that, right? It must be his fault. It can't be Harry's, or Ginny's, or anybody else's, so it must be his.

Draco pulls the blankets over his head again, stopping the light from reaching him and calling him out on his lies. One day. Just one day, and he'll be okay. He'll get over it, _him._

He'll try. 

It's probably midday when Draco tears himself away from his tear-soaked pillow, detangling himself from suffocating blankets and numbly walking to the tea-set he'd brought with him. He's not hungry, but there's a dull ache in his stomach, telling him he should probably eat. 

There's nothing on his counter save for an old muffin- a blueberry one. 

It's in the bin before he starts crying again. 

"Malfoy!" 

There's a pounding at his door, desperate and angry and brash, and Draco's so startled that he very nearly shatters his cup. He's really not in the mood to talk to anyone right now, but the nagging feeling that the door will probably break down under the deafening blows anyway makes him set down his cup down on the bench and walk to the door, tugging it open after a moment's hesitation. 

He doesn't see who's there, but he surely feels the harsh jab at his chest. 

"Bastard!" 

Ah, Ronald. Draco looks up from where he'd stumbled back, hand clutched protectively to his chest. "What- Weasley what are you doing?" He asks, more confused than scared or angry. 

But draws his wand before he answers, and _that_ makes Draco truly scared. 

"How _dare_ you! How dare you trick Harry like that." 

Now Draco's back to being confused for a moment, before it hits him and a stone sinks down to the bottom of his stomach. "You know."

Ron snorts indignantly. " _Of course_ I know. I'm his best friend, Malfoy. You're nothing to him. Nothing!"

The words sting Draco, but only because they're the same ones he'd been repeating to himself over and over again.

"He was confused, or-or manipulated. He doesn't love you, he never did. You've got to be seriously dim if you ever thought he actually cared about you." Ron spits, walking around him with his wand pointed outwards. 

It's too visceral for Draco. "Shut up." He mutters weakly. 

"You know i'm right. He made a mistake. That's all it was. You know that he must _hate_ you for it!"

"Shut up!" Draco screeches from some deep, raw part of him, and it's shocking enough to stun Ron into silence. "Just shut up!"

"Draco..." 

Draco looks up at the second uninvited guest of that day, standing in the frame of his door, not entering, but not daring to leave. "Harry..."

###

"Leave, Ron." Harry barks out.

"What? No, I-" 

"I said go!" Harry snaps, eyes blazing a dangerous firey red. 

Ron turns the color of his hair and concedes silently, leaving without another word. 

The door slamming shut startles Draco, making him jump a bit, but Harry stands unflinchingly still. 

Stoic, as always. Just like that night; unmoving, unwavering.

"You should go too." Draco says, turning his back on Harry. He folds his arms over his chest to self soothe, feeling how ragged his breaths are.

"No." Harry says brazenly, and Draco almost wants to snort in amusement. Trust Harry to care so little about ettiquette. "I'm not leaving until you listen to me." 

"I don't want to do this, Harry. Please." Draco's voice drops, eyes lowering to the ground. "Please, just go." 

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Draco."

"Harry-"

"And I'm sorry that I didn't say anything."

"Harry, _please_ -" But Draco knows it's futile to try and block out the answer that's coming. Why does he have to say it, when Draco's been aware this whole time? _Harry doesn't love him._

Now, it's like he's rubbing salt into open, bloody wounds.

"Draco, wait just-" He walks closer, and Draco instinctually backs away. "I'm trying to make it better."

"Don't. You don't need to justify yourself to me." Draco snaps. "You don't love me. It's not the end of the bloody world. I don't need you to comfort me, or protect me, or try and make it sound any different to what it is. Just leave me the courtesy to process it, and _get out_." 

Draco's chest is heaving deep breaths by the end of the speech, and his eyes are, for once, fixed directly onto Harry's.

Harry shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. " _Merlin_ , Draco. You're so stubborn." 

" _Excuse me_? You're going to just stand there and-"

"I love you, you git!" Harry shouts, to cut him off, and Draco's mind blanks. "I love you."

What was he saying? He can't remember. It's inconsequential, anyway, because everything is, now. Nothing matters, except the beautiful boy standing in front of him. The beautiful boy who loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!!


	19. Chekhov's Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to kiss you, make you feel alright.  
> -Tom Odell, Another Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing;  
> If you think you're reading too much into this chapter, trust me, you're not.

_I love you, you git!_

The words bounce around in Draco's head, echoing and resonating and having an effect on him he didn't think they could.

His head is spinning, and his chest feels tight as a coil, and he's quickly loosing control over himself and the conversation so he has to say something. 

"But - Ginny. And you didn't... why didn't you say anything, that night?" 

Harry shakes his head. "I didn't know how to say what I wanted to. I needed to admit that I was- _am,_ in love with you to myself first." 

"Ginny-" He gasps out, because there has to be _something_ , some reason to prove what's happening really isn't, that this is some elaborate joke and reality will slap him into awareness soon. 

"We broke up. " Harry says shortly, and the hurt tone of his voice makes Draco regret bringing her up.

"I'm sorry." He blurts, and even to him it sounds awkward and out of place, though he's trying to be sincere. He's sorry that Harry sounds sorry. Sorry for the aching pain and guilt painting his voice. 

"No." Harry walks closer, and Draco, daringly doesn't move away this time. "It's not your fault."

"It's not her's, either." Draco mumbles, eyes transfixed onto Harry's. He could fall into them, could easily be trapped in their blissful world that promises wonder and joy and _Harry_. He could breathe him, live him, give everything he can give and then some. 

"No. It's not." The words tumble from him in a nonchalant manner, though Draco knows he cares about her, and the fallout of their relationship. He has to care; it's Harry. 

He moves closer still, and Draco doesn't dare to even flinch. He can feel him more than he can see him, the suddenly suffocating air smelling like, tasting like, _Harry._ He's right in front of him now, but he feels so much closer than he is. 

"We can't do this." Draco mutters, closing his eyes in a rare moment of vulnerability. "What will everyone say?"

Harry hums, and Draco's breath catches when he feels cool fingers brush across his cheekbone. "I don't care." 

Draco's half-lidded eyes refocus on him, trying hard to appear unaffected by his touch but failing spectacularly. 

"You have to care, Harry." Harry doesn't acknowledge him, instead rubbing his fingers distractingly over Draco's jaw, making the other boy press into his palm, not entirely of his own volition. 

"Harry." Draco breathes again, raspy and hoarse and obscene in the most delicious way. His fingers wrap around his wrist, fighting every instinct that's lighting his nerves on fire and stopping Harry's hand. "We _can't._ "

"I couldn't care less about what people will say, Draco. And you can't make me care anymore than I can." 

His fingers loosen around Harry's wrist. "Ron and Hermione ... what about them? Your friends?" 

"They'll come around. I know they will." 

"How can you be sure-" Draco presses, and Harry lifts his other hand to pry Draco's fingers fully off his wrist. 

"I know, alright? I know. Relax. It's all fine." His hand is back in it's familiar position, dancing over his neck. Draco shudders in barely repressed pleasure, and Harry can't help the smug grin that finds it's way onto his face. 

" _Don't_." Draco mumbles out, but he's too far gone to inject any real warning into his words, sounding more abashed than threatening. 

"I'm sorry." He says. "You're just so ... so _perfect_." 

Draco keensat the praise, too caught up in the feel of Harry's hand against his skin to feel ashamed. "Kiss me." He intends to say it like a command, but his voice betrays him and he sounds suspiciously like he's begging. 

"Are you sure you don't want to check with the world if it's alright first?"

" _Harry_." Draco bites out in exasperation, color filling his cheeks. 

_"_ No, really, you can go ahead right now, if you want, wouldn't want them to start talking-" 

" _Please."_

Harry smiles, apparently deciding to put Draco out of his misery, and drops his hands to his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Draco lets himself be guided by those hands until he's flush against his chest and they can't physically get any closer. Even then, it's not nearly close enough. 

Draco's eyes linger on Harry's, but it only takes a moment for him to take note of the intensity they hold. Does he look like that, too?

And then, without warning, Harry's lips are against his again. He tangles his hands into the front of Harry's shirt, needing to grasp at _something_ to ground himself.

It's not tentative and careful like before; Harry's thrown all caution to the wind, his mouth assertive and possessive against his.

He's saying so much more with this kiss, raw, unadulterated passion bleeding through and overwhelming both of their senses. He's demanding and a little rough but just enough that it won't hurt Draco, and his actions speak a million words, though they really only need to speak one;

_Mine._

Draco's lips are red and bruised when he pulls away, resting his forehead on Harry's. They breathe together, once, twice, until Harry lets out a ragged laugh. 

"What?" Draco mumbles. 

"Nothing, I just ..." Harry lifts his head, and Draco's eyes follow him. "I'm _happy_."

Draco rests his head against Harry's shoulder, huffing out a short laugh at Harry's expense. "You're mawkish." 

"You love it."

"Mmm." Draco murmurs, agreeing without agreeing.

Harry presses a kiss to his forehead, and the words 

_I love you._

Almost tumble from Draco's lips before he manages to stop them. 

###

Somehow, they'd ended up in Draco's bed. They'd been talking, and Draco's knees started to threaten to give up on him so he'd sat on the side of the bed and Harry had followed suit. They wound up with Draco's head against Harry's chest, fingers tracing patterns onto his arm, like ink marking an invisible tattoo. 

Draco can feel Harry's chest rise and fall with his deep breaths, and it lulls him into a peaceful resolution, drifting away like a ship on the blue expanses of the ocean. 

But Harry's hand accidentally dips lower, and Draco's pyjama sleeve is hiked up and he's running the pads of his fingers over the bumpy skin over his wrist where smooth skin should lie. 

Draco's hand is out of his grip before Harry can stop him. 

"No, don't." Harry murmurs, tugging his hand back. "I don't want you to hide."

"It's ugly." Draco mutters. He looks away when Harry draws his hand out from under the covers, light catching the black ink burned into his skin, like a brand of the enslavement he'll never truly be free from.

"Yes." Harry agrees. He sounds disgusted, and the unmistakable growl of anger colours his tone. Draco's face turns bright red from the humiliation, but Harry doesn't let the thought linger. "But you're not." 

Draco turns his head towards Harry's, and watches him bring his hand up to his mouth, brushing his lips over the back of Draco's knuckles. 

Draco's heart slows, not daring to even beat too loudly in case it distracts him from the surreal scene unfolding in front of his eyes. 

"It's a part of me." Draco says softly.

"Yeah. But it's not all of you."

Draco's eyes fill with water from repressed emotion, and an overwhelming feeling filling him sits on his chest like a heavy stone, rendering him unable to breathe much less think properly.

Harry's one of the first, and only people to believe that, and Draco's unable to think straight long enough to apply his regular cynicism and prove him to be a liar. 

He twists his head around to catch Harry off guard with a weighted kiss, urgent and desperate like he's afraid it'll be his last.

"It's okay." Harry whispers into his hair when he has to pull himself away. "I'm here." 

Draco's eyes close, and he realises starkly with Harry's words that his fear isn't a fleeting one. Slowly his breath and thoughts return, fatalistic and far more reasonable to his mind. 

Draco's got an unshakable feeling in his gut; that the joy he feels is the calm before the storm that's soon to hit, wrecking everything and returning the world to it's suitable state of despondent entropy. 

Harry shouldn't want him. No, it's not just that. _Harry should want Ginny_ , and he shouldn't want him. And despite the fact that Harry's made his desire for Draco abundantly clear, he's waltzed around the subject of Ginny smoothly enough to make Draco foolishly put her aside.

He leans forward away from Harry's chest, craning his neck downward so he doesn't have to look at him behind his back. His words need to be picked carefully, and Harry's eyes, painted with painful concern won't help him at all. 

"Draco? What's wrong?" 

Neither does his voice. 

"Do you ... do you love me like you loved her?" His tone isn't steady and calculated like he imagined it to be. It's weak and agonisingly limpid as his eyes, and he knows Harry can look through him and flay him out, raw and exposed as he'll ever be. 

He doesn't hear the sheets rustle behind him, and he can imagine how the tense tautness of Harry's body pulls him into heart-stopping stillness. "Don't." He says sharply, and it's like a knife's kissed his chest where Harry should've. 

For a moment, nothing is said, and Draco's shoulders slump lower still. It's scary, in a way, how the one subject completely changes Harry's disposition rather violently. It rattles Draco, more than he'd like to admit, drawing up familiar feelings he'd rather keep buried. It's his fault though: he's pressing a sore nerve.

However, something in him keeps forcing the uncomfortable truth that his wounds matter as much as Harry's.

But he really should know better. 

"I'm sorry." He says softly, though a lingering feeling he can't dislodge isn't sure he _should_ be apologising. 

Harry sighs and Draco feels his arms wrap around his middle. His stubble scratches against the skin of Draco's shoulder where he rests his head. "No, _i'm_ sorry. That was rude," He mutters. "I just ... I don't like talking about her. Not when i'm like this." 

"When you're like this?" Draco asks, curiosity putting his caution onto the back burner. 

"When i'm with you. When i'm happy. It's like, I can't help but feel guilty, because I shouldn't be happy. I don't deserve to be, not after giving up on her like that." 

Draco's heart drops. "Do you miss her?" His anguish is brilliantly put on display by the stutter in his voice. 

The grip on his waist tightens, in such a proprietary manner that he's almost convinced he shouldn't have even asked. 

"A little bit." Draco clenches his jaw, but Harry presses his lips against his cheek. "No, not like that. I miss talking to her. We always fight, and I just miss when we didn't; we really were good friends before. I'll always care about her, but, I dunno, I think i'll always miss her like that too." 

"I don't understand." Draco says. "You say that like there's no chance you'd ever be friends again."

"There isn't. I don't mean before we were together, I mean before the war." 

Draco can hear the terse quality to his voice introduce itself again. Harry doesn't talk about the war, he never has. Even when they met up, spent late nights of truths and secrets by the lake, he never talked about it in depth. 

It's another topic he avoids, but it's more jagged. Where Ginny's a careful waltz, the war is a tiptoed walk over a bed of thorns. 

Draco doesn't say anything because he can't, resting his hands over Harry's wound around him. 

"I don't." Harry says after enough time passes that the statement is confusing. 

"What?"

"I don't love you like I loved her. Because you're different, and I can't love you in the same way. It wouldn't be fair. And anyway, i'm different when i'm with you, too. I'm ... better when i'm with you."

A soft kiss pressed to Harry's cheek lets him know that the sentiment is very much reciprocated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this explores Harry's character more than Draco's tbh, though it's from his point of view. 
> 
> In case you missed my statement at the start, here's the long version:  
> I started this story maybe not so serious about my writing, but i've really been trying to improve and add new depth to this story. It's still all for fun, and still very playful in terms of canon compliance, but i've been trying to add more subtext and symbolism and all that fun writer jazz. I think this is genuinely one of the best chapters i've written in terms of depth, and that's overall, not just for this work. Also, all this confidence i've gained if definitely because of you guys, the readers. It's even started to help me in my school grades, my writing has improved very drastically and you've all motivated me to be better. I can't thank you all enough.


	20. What's her's is not mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I love you now — isn’t that enough? I can’t help what’s past.” She began to sob helplessly. “I did love him once — but I loved you too.”
> 
> Gatsby’s eyes opened and closed.  
> “You loved me too?” he repeated. 
> 
> \- F Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyoo  
> This ones a bit angsty, but I know you all love that don't @ me :)

Ron and Ginny aren't at the table when Draco finally returns to breakfast the next day. His eyes dart over the awkward empty spaces, heavy and impenetrable in their hollowness. He can feel Harry's eyes do the same, can see him tense up next to him.

They're close enough to appear friends, but not close enough to appear as anything else at all.

Harry had vehemently denied that public impression was a valid reason to forbid their relationship, but evidently he's changed his mind. Or maybe, it's not the public's impression he really cares about. Draco was right to bring up his friends; and now that Harry's _not_ driven by a hormone-induced haze, he's probably woken up to smell the roses that reek of horrible truth. 

It will take them time, time they don't have and won't have until the break is over. So Draco and Harry had come to an agreement.

They'd both reached it under amicable terms. Not that Draco would've done differently if Harry hadn't told him to. He's all in; Potter could ask him to trim the Whomping Willow and he'd happily run off to find some shears.

_Just wait until she's ready. Just wait a little longer._

So Draco had obeyed, agreeing to keep the relationship secret, for all of their sakes, but really mostly for Ginny's. He could, and _should_ live with that. It's the least he can do; not rub her face through the mud.

"Hello." Hermione's whispered greeting to Harry is forced and overly-cordial; it makes Draco wrinkle his nose in disgust. Her gently inclined head, barely an acknowledgement of him, shoots even more cool ice into his heart. She hates him, he knew she would, and she does. 

She must. 

Luna would be a welcome distraction, a helpful mediator, but she's disappeared somewhere Draco doesn't care to follow, and he's left fumbling in the dark. 

Harry sits opposite him at the tables, next to Hermione and facing outward to the rest of the hall. It stings him a little bit, much more than it should, and suddenly, Draco realises just how exposed his usual seating position leaves him. Funny, he never thought about it when Harry's body was so close to his, stilling any threats or whispered accusations that could be thought up by other students. 

He's overreacting, and he's able to introspect enough to realise that. It's not like as soon as there's barely a foot of distance between them he suddenly becomes public enemy number one. 

But he sure would feel a lot safer if Harry's eyes were _on_ him and not past him. 

"You don't have to do that." Hermione says curtly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She sets her eyes on Harry's, so that he's forced to look at her, forced to be truthful. "I know you two are... _together._ You don't need to pretend you're not."

Draco bites his tongue, restraining himself from pointing out that the tone she used for _together_ is testament to the very fact that they _should_ hide it. 

"We're not hiding it from you, Hermione." Harry says carefully, glancing at Draco. "We're just trying to make it more..."

"Palatable?" Hermione snorts, and it's an ugly sound Draco would have never attributed to her. 

Harry's chest heaves, like he wants to sigh but he knows he's got no right to do so. So instead, it's Hermione herself who puts down her spoon in exasperation. 

"Look, i'm sorry. I'm going to try harder, I just... it's a lot, you know. A _lot_." 

Draco's chest fills with an empty feeling, and the overwhelming need to apologise grasps him and shakes until he caves. "I'm sorry, too." He mutters. 

"Draco, don't-" Harry starts, eyes flashing a warning and a reminder of their unspoken agreement that he'd do the talking. 

"No, Harry. It's my fault. I shouldn't have ... if I wasn't there, Ginny would still be, and i'm sorry for that. I didn't mean for this to happen." 

" _Don't_ say her name." Hermione bristles, but Draco carries on unflinchingly. 

"Please, believe that I didn't think this-" 

"You didn't _think_. You didn't, and that's the problem. Did you even care about her? At all?" Hermione's voice is a rough whisper across the table. She's as angry as Ron was, but somehow, her fluid control scares him more than his reckless abandon. "You make Harry happy. I can't understand why, but you do. So i'll try my best to accept this. But don't think, not for a minute, that i'll ever forgive you for this. Never." 

She's shaking with anger by the time she's done, and fiery red fills her cheeks, but she doesn't move. She doesn't want to make a scene, and she hasn't. "I think you two should go." She mutters. 

Draco's eyes wander to Harry's, expectant, but he's confronted with an accusatory glare instead of a supportive one. He resigns easily. 

"Let's go, Draco." He says, standing and carefully keeping his eyes straight ahead. 

Draco rises, follows him out of the hall and into a corridor, far away from prying eyes. Harry looks around conspiratorially, checking for any quiet listeners, before finally turning to face Draco. 

"What the hell was that?" He snaps, arms crossed against his chest.

Draco blinks. He's confused out of his mind; what did he do wrong? "What-"

" _If I wasn't there, Ginny would still be,"_ He repeats, and the words sound a lot worse when Draco hears them from his mouth. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

Draco's about ready to start protesting when he realises _why_ Harry's truly angry; and it's sure as hell not because he spoke to Hermione. It's _what_ he said to her. 

"I didn't mean it like that, Harry." He says, shaking his head, but a small voice in his mind isn't sure if that's the truth. Maybe there is a part of him that's unsure if Harry really did, wholly and unequivocally, pick him over Ginny. 

"Bullshit. You did. You meant every word. I don't know how else to say this to you, Draco!" He growls, and Draco suddenly becomes aware of how close Harry is to him, how angry he is, how volatile his behaviour is right now. He could very easily just reach past the space between them and-

No. No matter how angry, how tense Harry gets, it would be unfair for Draco to think of him the way he's thinking now.

Harry's not _him._

"I'm not in love with Ginny. I chose you. I _want_ you."

Draco feels the shame inch into his cheeks. He's humiliated. Harry must think he's pathetic, insecure, and a host of other qualities he's most certainly not.

There's just something about Harry that makes Draco feel stupidly like a lovestruck teenager. 

"Okay." He says. "Okay. I'm sorry." Draco sighs, rubs two fingers to his forehead and shuts his eyes. He's starting to understand Harry's perspective, and god does it make him look like an ass. "I didn't mean to insinuate anything." 

Harry doesn't say anything, staring at Draco for a moment. Then he looks around the corridor quickly to make doubly sure they didn't have an audience. "Let's go." He says quietly, moving away from him. For a second, Draco's worried Harry hasn't forgiven him at all, but he doesn't lead him back to the dining hall. 

Instead, they're making their way to Harry's room.

There's nobody in the common room- everyone's at breakfast, so Draco's anxiety over getting caught eases a little.

Harry all but shoves the door open in his haste, and Draco follows after him obediently. There's a look of determination on Harry's face that tells Draco to just roll with it.

Once the door is shut firmly behind them, Harry finally looks at Draco. 

Well, for a moment. Because seconds later Draco's wrapped up in a heated kiss.

It takes him by suprise, so much so that the little noise of shock he makes is swallowed up by Harry's mouth.

But Draco finds his rythym eventually, relaxing and pressing closer to Harry, whose fingers dig possessively into Draco's hips, harsh enough to bruise.

This makes Harry lean on him a bit too much in reciprocation, and they stumble, Draco's back hitting the door with a soft thump.

Harry pulls away for a second, rests his hands on either side of Draco's head, and asks in a breathy voice that's still tinged with residual anger; "Believe me?"

Draco shivers, at a loss for words. His voice- low and ruined, it sends chills down Draco's spine. And the way he looks at him; eyes narrowed like a challenge, a duel. Daring him to say no. 

Harry's eyes wander to the side, and he smiles mordantly. "What exactly do you want from me, Malfoy?" 

_To want me. To want me and for me to not question it._

Draco tilts his head upwards so he doesn't have to look at Harry anymore. He's afraid of how much he craves him. Like an addict to a drug.

"I- just, tell me again." He mumbles quietly. "Tell me you want me." 

Harry laughs, but Draco feels suspiciously like the joke's on him. "Draco _. I want_ _you._ "

Draco lowers his head again to catch the other boy's gaze, hungry, but open and honest in a way that lets Draco see straight into his soul.

Harry really does believe he wants Draco.

"I believe you." 

The grin that stretches across Harry's face is unnervingly innocent and naive, considering the situation. 

"Good." He drops his hands from next to Draco's face, and back down to his waist. He kisses him again slowly; tantalizingly slowly, like he's trying to draw out every ounce of need Draco has for him. 

Draco pushes back, trying to get him to _hurry up,_ and he even tangles his hands in Harry's hair, pressing his head closer and closer. 

But Harry's having none of it, and he traps Draco's wandering hands above his head, pining his wrists against the door effortlessly. "Easy, Malfoy."

It isn't easy. And Draco's rushing this quickly before it's over. Because even if Harry believes, with every inch of his heart, that he wants Draco, there's always going to be a part of him that yearns for what he had with Ginny.

And it's going to tear them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for readinggg!  
> How do you feel about angry Harry? Is he behaving too possessive, too controlling? Or is he just sick of being questioned?

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters in this story.  
> The name of the story, and the name of some chapters are sourced from lyrics of the song 'Cough Syrup' by Young The Giant.


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